


My Empire of Dirt

by vernie_klein



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Smith/Wesson, Alternate Universe-FBI, Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Gratuitous Violence, Head the warnings love, Liberal use of my own version of law enforcement, M/M, Mentions of child rape (no actual rape committed or threatened), Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Serial Killer Dean, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vernie_klein/pseuds/vernie_klein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What? You want the truth? You want to know what happened? How I broke into Jimmy’s apartment, threw his stuff around. Found a Publix bag from his night with Randal and suffocated the ever living shit out of him? I laughed as I watched him gasp and sputter to take a breath. I twisted the bag tighter and tighter until the very fibres began to pull apart. And then do you know what I did? I twisted it further.”</p><p> FBI Special Agent, Dean Smith lead an interesting life. A life now kept in a space no bigger than a jail cell. Maybe that’s because it was a jail cell. Being held on suspicion for a murder he didn’t- well, he did kill the guy, but really… That’s neither here nor there. Dean deserved prison. Served him right for being caught. The things he had done paled in comparison to how he had left the man that had caused his incarceration. He may have been a little off... A little psychotic... But, you see… That wasn’t his fault. You could blame it on his parents. Or the system. You could even blame it on God and his Great Cosmic Plan. One thing is for certain, it had nothing to do with Dean’s current partner. Nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Empire of Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> I think it goes without saying (though I will say it anyway) that this is by far my favourite thing to do now. This was the second year that I participated in the SPN J2 Big Bang and I can’t wait until next year!
> 
> There are a few people that I have to thank this year for all of their hard work. 
> 
> For starters, I would like to thank Wendy and the organisers of the SPN J2 Big Bang It takes a lot of effort to organise something this large. I think I speak for all of the participants when I say _Thank you_.
> 
> I want to thank JayEz My first fan… Sometimes my loudest cheerleader. You’ve put up with a lot over the years, and for that, I thank you! Without you, I never would have started writing fanfiction.
> 
> I would like to thank my husband, Kevin, for dealing with my questions. They ranged from the innocent: _How much do you think Dean weighed at 14?_ To the outrageous: _If you drilled a hole a few inches from the end of an aluminum bat, how much force would you need to wield it once it’s filled with concrete?_ _Is this something a teenager could do?_ He answered them truthfully. Gave me his honest opinion when needed, and let me know when he thought when I should be plotty and not porny. (He hasn’t read my story, and I don’t think he will, but he knows enough about it) 
> 
> I want to thank wantAwinchester for her endless cheerleading and moral support. She is a _wonderful_ person, a great asset to the Supernatural Community, and above all else, _my friend_. Love you to the moon and back, Debbi. I miss you bunches.
> 
> I would also like to thank my artist, blythechild She picked me. I don’t know what number I was (and even if I wasn’t her first pick… for her to think my summary was worthy, means everything). Thank you for the beautiful artwork. I like to think that I give my artist pretty much carte blanche to do what they want, and she didn’t disappoint. It was an _honour_ , Blythe, to work with you. I wasn’t lying when I said I was making one of your pictures the home screen on my tablet. I’ve already gotten comments from people at work! Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> I wanted to save the best for last. Em … You have been my rock… My salvation in a sea of plot bunnies and distractions… My Alpha, Omega, and above all… the Beta that I need. You help me to grow more than you will ever know. There is nothing that I can’t accomplish with you by my side. You will always be my go to, my _best gal_... Even though this isn’t your fandom, you make it yours for me. I love you more than you’ll ever know…
> 
> So, I hope that you enjoy. The title has been taken from one of my favourite artists from the 1990’s, Nine Inch Nails. I had the honour of being in a few of Trent Reznor’s live videos filmed at a concert at the Omaha Civic Center on 19 September 1994 for his _Further Down the Spiral_ Tour. _Hurt_ (Quiet) is my all-time favourite NIN song, and I found it fitting for Dean in this story.
> 
> Hurt was written by Trent Reznor and released on his 1994 Album _The Downward Spiral_. Johnny Cash did an eerie cover shortly before his death. While the cover was a wonderful tribute to Reznor’s masterpiece, the Quiet version of _Hurt_ takes us to a time when suicide was seldom spoken in polite company, but on everyone’s minds. It gave a voice to the scared… the forgotten… But most of all, it made a generation be _noticed_ for more than just it’s flannel and grunge.
> 
> I hope that you can find a little of that in Dean.

_What have I become?_  
_My sweetest friend_  
_Everyone I know_  
_Goes away in the end_

_You could have it all_  
_My empire of dirt_  
_I will let you down_  
_I will make you hurt_  
_If I could start again_  
_A million miles away_  
_I would keep myself_  
_I would find a way_

-Trent Reznor Nine Inch Nails “Hurt”

“Let me tell you a story.”

“Mr Smith. Might I remind you that you have been advised to remain quiet. Anything you say _can_ and _will_ be used against-”

“I get that, _big, bad, lawyer-boy_. But it’s _my_ life and _my_ story. I wanna tell it.” Dean leaned as close as he could to his lawyer. ‘Besides… I reckon it’s something ya’ll wanna hear.”

His lawyer circled his hand in a _get on with it then_ motion and rolled his eyes. “Your funeral.”

Dean smiled wide for the camera set up in the corner of the room. The red light was blinking steadily. He knew he was being recorded and he wanted to make it _sensational_. “As I was saying… _Let me tell you a story_. My name is Dean Michael Smith. But that wasn’t the name I was born with. I was born January 24th, 1979 to John Henry Winchester and Mary Margaret Winchester nee Campbell in Lawrence, Kansas. The first few years of my life were uneventful. We celebrated all of the holidays as a family, Christmas… Easter… I had birthday parties and playdates, visited the zoo and museums. I was an only child until a few months after my fourth birthday. On a sunny day in May, my mom gave birth to another son. When he was placed in my arms, it felt like the first day of my life. The second half of my soul was finally in this world. Things were great. I enjoyed being a big brother, loved my parents, and was the best son two people could ask for. Then, it happened.

“A fire consumed our house, killing my mother and leaving my father a widower. He tried _so_ hard to care for me and my brother, but he couldn’t. We were placed in an Orphanage. My brother was placed in a home within a few months- almost immediately for an adoption. Babies were such- I should say, _are_ such a hot commodity that it was amazing he stayed for as long as he did. Me on the other hand? No one wanted a four-year-old. Not even one as well behaved as me. I tried _so_ hard to be everything anyone would ever want. My fifth, then sixth birthdays came and went. I saw probably fifteen or twenty kids adopted between the time my brother and I were adopted. Eventually, my seventh birthday came and I hadn’t even had as much as a home stay over a weekend from anyone.

“Don’t get me wrong… The Orphanage was nice. It wasn’t one of those that you read about in _Annie_ or _The BFG_. Not all Orphanages are gruel for every meal and beatings. Mine was clean… Nice even. The Matron was loving and kind. She gave hugs and kisses freely and made us all feel special. Even me.

“I had just finished 2nd Grade when a couple, Kyle and Melissa Smith came into the Orphanage. They were looking for a little boy and it just so happened that they were too busy for a baby. Not that there weren’t plenty of babies, but they wanted one in school, one who was fairly self-sufficient. Kyle was an Aerospace Engineer at Lockheed and Melissa was the VP of Finance at Coca-Cola. So… _Viola!_. I fit the bill. I journeyed home with them to Atlanta and never came back. A month before my ninth birthday, the adoption was finalised.

“Of course, they did their best to find out about my Bio-Family. A few weeks before my tenth birthday, they finally had information they could share. Information they _knew_ was fact and not just conjecture. Momma always thought it important I know where I came from. I learned all about my mother’s family and some about my father’s. It was a shame that they couldn’t get any information about my brother. Not that I remembered much about him, by then it had been a few too many years. I had only had him for about ten months before he was gone.

“I did have a fairly normal childhood. Attended private school in Marietta. Played Pee-Wee football and summer baseball. Dad and I enjoyed Braves games and Momma and I cheered on the Falcons. My little sister, Sebrina was adopted a few weeks before my eleventh birthday. She was six, and the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. It’s a shame that Leukemia took her from us before she turned ten. She fought hard though. Always a trooper, my Sebby.” Dean sniffled and grabbed at his water glass, his hands straining between the cuffs. He took a long drink, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry… It’s hard to talk about her, you know? She was a lot of my life… and I miss her.”

“It’s okay. Do you need a break, or can we continue?” His lawyer handed over a Kleenex, fingers lingering for a moment on the back of Dean’s hand.

“I’m fine. It’s just a lot to take in.” Dean smiled and winked at the camera. “So… It was shortly after Seb was diagnosed that it began. I think that the urge was always there, the helplessness just brought it out. I wasn’t the stereotypical- animals were never involved. I never hurt my family- my friends… Never. There were no urges to burn… None to torture… Not really. I was in downtown Atlanta one day and happened upon a mother and small child. The mom was wandering down the street taking in the shops and not paying _any_ attention to her daughter. Someone could have come along and snatch her kid and she would have never known. I wanted to teach her a lesson. I returned her daughter with a _Ma’am… You really should keep an eye on your little girl. I know if she was mine-_ Then, I lifted her pocketbook. She lived in a small apartment across town with her husband.

“I spent the next week figuring out their habits. I did luck out that Saturday evening when the father took his little one to some father/daughter dance at her preschool. I was able to bypass their alarm fairly easy and skipped in while she was in the tub. They thought it was an accident, you know… But, she knew. I spent an hour with her, slowly holding her under while reminding her of what an _awesome_ mother she was. It was _glorious_. She struggled so beautifully… It’s amazing to see what the human body can go through; you know?” Dean chuckled. “But that doesn’t help you any, does it? Her name was Kathryn Jackson. She was an Accountant at a local CPA. Her daughter, Cynthia was three at the time. She has grown to be a fine woman under the parenting of Bruce, Kathryn’s husband. He remarried in 1996… A woman named Naomi. She is a caring, wonderful mother to Cynthia.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at the Officer sitting next to his lawyer. “You wanna hear the story? It’s a good one.” Dean smiled and shook his head.

“It all started with a bath...

A bath… That’s exactly what she needed after a long stressful day. Dean shook his head as he peered through the crack in the door. She couldn’t _wait_ to get her kid and husband out of the house. Dean pushed open the door slightly with the toe of his boot. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He glanced down quickly at his attire. All black, his chin length hair under a tight skull cap. Dean’s hands were sweating in the two pairs of surgical gloves. Next time, he would go get a tight pair of leathers. That should keep prints to a minimum.

She was humming along to the light pop music playing in the radio on her shelf. Dean smiled and refrained from humming along to “I’m Too Sexy” as it came on for the third time. A claw foot. He really liked stand-alone tubs. She had placed a wet washcloth over her face and Dean knew that here was his chance. He stalked into the bathroom, careful to keep the squeaking of his shoes to a minimum. It was important to keep up the element of surprise. Sidestepping the pile of clothes that she had tossed in a heap by the vanity, he glided toward the tub and stood at her feet. He really lucked out with this one. The taps were on the side. It was a shame he couldn’t claim his first kill. This needed to look accidental.

Dean tapped the woman on the foot with a gloved hand. He cleared his throat as quietly as possible. “Kathryn. I need you to listen to me, and listen to me good.”

The mother of one startled and flailed slightly in the tub, her red hair fanning out behind her. “Wh- what are you doing in here?”

Dean laughed. His voice echoed through the small, almost bare room. “I’m here to kill you.” Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked.

At the confession, his victim raised herself slightly from the murky, bubble-filled water. “You’re _here_... to kill _me_? In case you didn’t notice, _kid_... You’re a kid.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave _your_ kid alone then? I coulda snatched her so _fuckin’_ quick, lady…” Dean inched closer to the tub, his hands on the smooth ceramic. He leaned closer to her body, smiling when the look of recognition settled onto her face. Dean chuckled. “Someone like me might not do much to your precious _baby_... But some sick fucker? Now we wouldn’t want that. Would we?”

Kathryn flailed again, this time in an attempt to cover herself. Dean wanted to laugh at her modestly. He wasn’t here to gawk at her body. No matter _how_ pretty she was. Dean pulled back slightly and lifted a hand to trail a finger through the thin, white bubbles as Kathryn shook her head, tears beginning to slip from her eyes. “Some sadistic bastard…. He’d taken her some place secluded… Far away from home. Disoriented and hungry, crying for her _momma_. He woulda flayed and _fucked_ your precious little thing… Her cries and whimpers pushing him further and further… Got her all bloody and wet. Ropes and chains and fire and quiet whispers...Cynthia, was it?”

“How? Wha-” Kathryn pursed her lips and whimpered. She straightened quickly as if realising that he was just a kid. “I’ll call the cops on you, sick mother fucker!”

“They would make her think that you _gave_ her to them… That you didn’t want her anymore. That she did something bad… She was _naughty_ , left her toys out or didn’t brush her teeth right. She’d know you didn’t love her anymore, that you were so _disgusted_ with her that you just decided that it was better to give her to that man then to keep her one minute longer. That’s what they do you know…” Dean smirked. “And if they didn’t kill her… They would sell her. I heard people in foreign countries pay _big time_ for little kids. But you wanna know the real kicker? People in this country pay even _more_.

“Now me… I don’t care too much for kids. Gotta little sister myself and would never want anything to happen to her. It would break my heart. You? You just let her wander around… Don’t even keep one eye on her…”

Dean snatched one of her ankles and pulled slightly. She windmilled her arms and failed at grabbing the edge of the tub, the bubbles making the ceramic slippery. “You won’t be getting out of this tub alive. At least this way, your little girl will have one parent that takes care of her. Say goodbye, Kathryn.”

“You-” Kathryn’s head slipped under the water as Dean curled his covered fingers around both ankles and yanked- hard. The splash soaked Dean’s shoes and the bottoms of his pants. He would need to find a grocery sack in the kitchen before he left. No reason to leave his wet shoe prints all over the white carpet leading to the back door.

“Aww…. Poor baby. Don’t struggle… Actually… We’ve got a while before your Bruce comes back and finds you. So… Struggle all you want, love. It’s _beautiful_...”

Dean smiled at the camera. “That help there? That little titbit could put me away for life. No matter that I was only thirteen.”

He ignored the way his attorney and the three officers in the room paled as he hummed a few bars of “I’m Too Sexy” and then smiled again.

“Mr Smith. Might I remind you-”

“Yeah… Ain’t happenin’, big boy. I gotta story to tell. Maybe they’ll make me one of those _Lifetime Movies_...” Dean cleared his throat. “So… where was I? Ah yeah, summer of 1992…

“It was a good summer. I had made the Middle Grades Premier Baseball team. Dean’s List- Hehe… _My_ List… Anyway… My sister was a few months into her Leukemia treatments. We thought for a while that they would work, you know? She even came to a couple of games that summer. School got out on the 4th and we were in the city that next weekend to celebrate another successful year. I thought that it might be fun to go _find_ someone, ya know?

“There was this guy… He was selling black tar on the street corner. At first I thought I could just rid the world of one more scumbag. Kinda like Batman… But then… I turned the corner and there was this bunch of girls. You know the kind… Scant clothing… Too much makeup. There was this one. She looked kinda young. Figured I would give her a try. I looked a little bit older for my age. I was athletic, strong… So I bought a twenty off the dealer and made my way over the girl.

“She was pretty- if she took off her makeup and put some clothes on. Tall, with honey-brown skin. Her hair was dyed the prettiest shade of red. My fingers just _itched_ to drag through it and pull. Called herself _Sugar Baby_. Found out later on what her _real_ name was. Sugar Baby was willing to show me where she took her clients. Probably thought I would be an easy bill. It may have been because she felt comfortable around me as I was close to her age. Make her feel like it wasn’t just business, but maybe something more. I spotted the needle tracks on her arms, the cuts on her wrists. This worked out to my advantage as it was evident she would have all the supplies needed for my little _venture_...

Dean approached the group of girls with trepidation. He had a hard time with girls. Not because he liked them like that, but more because he was intimidated. He smiled at the pretty Hispanic girl that he had eyeballed from over by the dealer.

“Hi. My name’s Dan. What’s yours?” Dean reached out a hand for the hooker to take.

“Sugar Baby.” The girl smiled and cocked her head toward the dilapidated building they were standing in front of. “Fifty bucks. You good for it?”

Dean nodded and steered her toward the door. “You want it now? Where the other girls can see?”

“Might be better that way. I ain’t never seen you round here before, so…”

Dean pulled a small roll from his front pocket and thumbed out two twenties and a ten. He passed the cash over the hooker making a show of it so that the other girls and her pimp- if he was watching could tell that he was a paying customer.

Sugar Baby led Dean by the hand through the door and up a narrow staircase to the second floor. She dropped this hand and pushed the curtain aside that separated the room from the stairwell.

“Sugar… You’re real sweet ya know?” Dean smiled at the girl as she grabbed his hand again, pulling him to her little alcove.

“Aww. Don’t be too kind, honey. It’s my job.” Sugar turned toward Dean and smiled. She waved her arm around, showing off her little space. It wasn’t much, but Dean could tell she had tried to make it home. “So… What do you think?”

Dean slid up behind the girl. She had told him she was twenty-one, but he didn’t believe her. There was no way she was a day over sixteen. He schooled his features as best as he could and smiled against the thin skin of her neck. He needed to remember what he was here for. “I think it’s _perfect_.”

She laughed and turned in his arms. “I don’t kiss… Not even for extra.”

“So, what’s your _real_ name? Cause, Sugar? It’s not what I wanna call you tonight.” Dean raised an eyebrow. It might not work, and even if it did- she could still lie about her real name.

“Tiana.” Tiana moved toward the small radio in the corner by her sleeping roll. She turned the volume up and danced around as “Achy Breaky Heart” by Billy Ray Cyrus blared through the tinny speakers. Her movements were measured, almost as if she was putting on a show. Dean figured that she was- maybe something that most of her marks wanted. He could have cared less.

Tiana’s movements loosened as the song continued. By the second chorus she was swaying and waving her arms above her head in lazy, fluid circles. Dean chucked and smiled. Maudlin thoughts ran through his head. He would never see his sister this carefree. And if Seb couldn’t be, this _bitch_ didn’t deserve to be.

Dean’s hackles raised and he felt the anger boiling slightly under the surface. It would do _no good_ to ruin the façade and have everything he had planned come crumbling down. It was a good thing that Tiana had her back to him. Dean took a deep breath and stilled his murderous thoughts.

“Tiana…” Dean started. He tried his best to look shy, a virgin. Well, he _was_ a virgin, but she didn’t need to know that. Besides, he wasn’t planning on taking any tonight. He was here for a show after all. “I got a baggy…”

“Weed?” Tiana stopped dancing abruptly and frowned, her hands on her hips. Her face a total 180 from the smiles and laughter of the moment before. “Don’t smoke the shit. Fuckers always cheatin’ you, lacing it with nasties…”

“Yeah... I know what you mean. But no, I got the good stuff…” Dean held up his baggy of little rocks, shaking the sticky spheres against the Ziploc. “Wanna take a ride?”

“I’m game, baby.” Tiana’s face lit up in recognition as she pulled back her sleeping roll and removed a small box. She pried open the lid and pulled out a couple of spoons, a lighter, tampon, and a needle. “Co’mere, sweetie. Sit a while. Get comfortable-like.”

Dean moved toward the sleeping bag and flopped down as gracefully as he could. He shuffled over to her side and waited patiently as she pulled a bottle of water and some sort of powder from behind her pillow roll to liquefy the heroin and drew it into the used needle. The song switched over to some whiny shit and Dean cringed on the inside.

“Let me?” Dean whispered softly in her ear. He kept his face close to the skin between her jaw and neck, breathing in the powdery, cloying smell of her perfume. It was a good thing that she couldn’t see his eyes. They would have given away his absolute _disdain_ at drugs and druggies. He knew he would have to work on that. Drugs were cheap and a great way to incapacitate a victim.

Dean withdrew the needle from her fingers and slid his hand up her bony forearm. He pressed lightly on the bruises other _clients_ had left her as he pushed up the mesh sleeve of what was supposed to have passed for a sweater. “How much?”

“That from Rico?” She narrowed her eyes when Dean shook his head that he didn’t know. “The guy on the corner. Puerto Rican… kinda heavy… _Rico_.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean smiled. He knew by the tone in her voice he had her- hook and line. “Why? His shit real cut?”

Tiana shook her head abruptly. “Naw… That’s the problem. His shit is real pure. If you don’t know, you could OD with the quickness. Do you got good veins? Cause I ain’t got a tourney.”

“Yeah… It’s cool. So… how much, baby?” Dean nuzzled at the soft skin behind her ear. He finally recognised the smell. She smelled like Love’s Baby Soft and menthol cigarettes. It wasn’t an appealing combination. There was nothing he could do now and it made Dean want to puke. The next few minutes were _crucial to his plan, so he smiled through the nausea as best as he could._

“Bout a quarter to a half. Slow though, kay?” Tiana’s eyes softened. She obviously wasn’t used to sweetness in her transactions. The corners of Dean’s lips lifted slightly as he smiled at her unwarranted concern. “In the vein in your arm. Up by the elbow. Your veins may be hard to find, but if you slap the skin-”

Dean pulled back slightly and narrowed his eyes. He knew they had grown hard at the insinuation that _he_ would be the one shooting up. There wasn’t much he could do to hide, now that he had shown his cards. It was time to go for the kill. “Oh sweetheart… It won’t be _me_ dying tonight.”

Dean tossed the needle gently onto her blanket and grabbed both of her arms, pushing her hard on the slippery material. The box tipped over spilling over half her water, but he didn’t care and she wouldn’t be alive long enough to. “Shh… don’t scream too loud. Not that anyone is gonna come runnin’... Are they?”

Tiana shook her head quickly and pursed her lips. Dean could tell she was trying hard to be quiet. The bruises on her body proved that she was used to being dominated by her clients. By the time her friends found the body and the ME noticed the needle tracks, a few extra bruises would go overlooked- especially if the other girls told the cops she already had them. “I promise honey… You’ll be flying high as a kite when you go. It’ll be good. So good. I’m gonna let your arms go now, ‘kay?”

Dean smiled as she nodded. He loved the terror in her eyes. There was no trust in her bloodshot whites. She really thought he would hurt her. And, he would. There may not be begging and blood _this_ time, but that didn’t mean it was going to be any less glorious. Dean fingered rolled the needle from where he dropped it and rotated the apparatus up into his palm. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer, plunging the needle deep into the crick of her elbow. He pulled back the plunger slightly, remembering at the last second to look for the flash of blood that let him know he hit a vein, and pressed the entire vial into her system.

“It was beautiful. She shook like a little leaf. Eventually, her breath shallowed and she began foaming. I held her through the shakes, through the ecstasy. Tiana’s eyes rolled in the back of her head, blissed out. Sonnets could have been written about the moment she died. I thought about it myself. The funniest part of the whole thing?” Dean laughed. His deep, echoing laugh cut the tension in the room. “I Will Remember You” was playing on the radio as she took her last breath. I never did forget her. Poetic, right?”

“Dean…”

“NO.” Dean turned to his lawyer, ignoring the camera. “Her ID said her name was Tiana Moore. I don’t think it was legit… But come on! She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Seriously. _Someone_ had to have remembered this girl.”

“We can look into it.” The Officer wrote down the information on his tablet. “This was when?”

“June 13th, 1992. Corner of Bouldercrest and Cherry. There was an abandoned building a block or so away. That’s where she died.” Dean sighed. “Man… It’s not that I feel _remorse_ per se… It’s just that everyone else _had_ someone. She had the other tricks. Her Pimp. The others that I killed? They always had someone. Someone to bury them, someone to mourn and cry as their body was placed in the ground. Someone to put flowers on a grave every year on their birthday. Maybe those other hookers were her family, but she was a kid.”

“He says he’ll look into it, then he’ll look into it.” Dean’s lawyer tried his best to smile. “Did you need a break? It’s almost lunchtime. We can get you a burger or something? Take a breather?”

“Naw… I’m good for at least a little while.” Dean ran a shaky hand through his hair as best as he could around the shackles and handcuffs. He ignored the looks from the officers gathered in the room. They had probably thought a few kills was excessive, but Dean was just your average, everyday Serial Killer. “But you could order for me? Double Bacon Avo Burger? A Coke. Sweet potato fries with cayenne pepper. Maybe some pie? After all… I’m gonna make all ya’ll _famous_.”

His lawyer glanced to the Deputy at the door. He watched on as the lawyer nodded assent at Dean’s order. The man slipped quietly from the room and he sighed.

“And you know what? Any time I smell that Love’s Baby Soft? I think of Sebby and that little wire metal heart basket it came in. She loved that stuff. Ya know? Do you know if they even still make that shit?"

“I don’t think so…”

“That’s a real shame there.” Dean took a long drink of the water on the table, his hands fumbling at the short chain connecting him to the table. “Think I could get a smoke?”

The Officer at the table stood abruptly, the chair rattling on the floor and the smack of his hands hitting the metal table ringing in the small room. “Now you listen here, _punk_... Don’t think that you can dictate what goes on-”

“Sheriff?” Ah. So he _was_ the Law in this two-bit, flea infested town. Dean leaned back as his lawyer stood, his large frame looming over the older man. “Might I remind you that my _client_ is still a Special Agent with the Bureau. He is innocent until found guilty. You have no evidence to back up any of his stories right now. Also, you’re on camera. Do you want to get arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent?”

The Sheriff visibly paled and removed his hands from the table. “You’re right. Of course you are _welcome_ to a cigarette, _Agent_.”

Dean’s lawyer pulled a pack of Marlboro Reds from the inside pocket of his suit coat. He tapped out a cigarette and mouthed it gently. Dean smiled slightly at the zippo his attorney pulled out next. The wheel lit on the first strike. Always dependable.

“Could I get a little slack?” Dean fidgeted as he tried to find a good way to hold his smoke.

“You know they’re not gonna allow that, Dean.” His lawyer chided.

Dean took a deep drag. “Ahh… That really _hits_ the spot. And reminds me of something….”

The Sheriff settles back into his seat. “Just how many kills are we talking about?”

“You’re just gonna have to put up with me to see…” Dean smirked as he adjusted in his seat to reach his mouth better. A plastic ashtray was placed in front of his chair. “It was a while before I felt the urge again. Sebby was going through her treatments still. She was in this Disney phase while in Children’s. It hurt to see her so broken… So run down. I had to be strong for her. She was my little light. I didn’t have my brother anymore. And there were times that I wondered if I had ever even _had_ him. Thought maybe I made him up. Momma had talked to one of those Private Investigators. Tried to get information. Records were sealed. There was nothing I could do. They couldn’t even tell me I had _had_ a brother. So, I protected Sebrina as best as a big brother could. But you can’t protect someone from cancer. Believe me… I tried. I prayed… I cursed… The Pastor at our church told me that it was _God’s Great Plan_. All caps. Like someone just decided that Dean hadn’t been through enough in his life. Well, fuck that.

“I almost _died_ the day she did.” Dean took a long drag of his smoke. “Really had considered it. But… I did the next best thing. I boxed. Joined a club a few minutes from my momma’s building and worked out damn near every day. We buried her the day before I turned fifteen. She was nine. Nine! Three months from her tenth birthday. I held her till the light left her eyes. At that moment? The light left my eyes too. It really was a whole new world.

“It was January 25th. I had just finished sparring at the Club and was on my way to meet momma so she could drive me home. The night was slightly cold, but I was still in my sweats and tank top. I always stopped at home before I would head to the city, so all I had was my book bag and the cash I kept strapped to my ankle in the money clip Daddy bought me when I turned fourteen.”

“Hey kid… Wanna smoke?” A zippo flicked in the dark of the alley Dean had taken to cutting through. Sure, it wasn’t the _smartest_ way to go… But Dean was still reeling from Seb’s death.

“I don’t smoke.” Dean whispered as he approached the man. This was gonna be good.

“Just a little taste….” The man pushed off the brick wall he was leaning on. Dean took a moment to size the guy up. He had to have been pushing forty. He was white, with a slight build, and quite effeminate. He slid up to Dean and curled his fingers around his bicep. “Ooh… all _muscle-y_. I like.”

“Do you?” Dean ducked his head. If he played this right…

“Oh yeah.” The man leered as he leaned in and mouthed the skin on Dean’s jaw. “I wanna teach you all kinds of things….”

Dean rolled his eyes. This guy was laying it on _thick_. He froze as the man wrapped his arm around Dean’s thin waist, fingering the waistband of his sweats. _That_? He wasn’t gonna take.

Dean shrugged his bag off his shoulder and let it drop to the dirty ground. “Do you now? Well…” Dean’s eyes hardened and he growled lightly.

“Ooh… I like a _take charge_ kinda guy.” The guy pulled Dean closer. This actually worked to his advantage.

“I’ll show you _take charge_.” Dean turned inward toward his assailant and pushed the guy off him, smirking as the man’s head bounced lightly off the brick. He batted his eyelashes as he advanced toward the man and stopped- smiling.

“It’s- You’re-” The guy stammered as he rubbed the back of his head. Dean wondered if he had pushed him hard enough to cause bleeding. He kinda hoped so. However, it would have been a _real_ shame to not draw first blood.

Dean watched the guy’s eyes widen as he picked up a broken red brick from next to his abandoned bag. “You wanna take advantage of little kids? That get you off?”

The man cowered against the wall, his arms automatically going up to cover his face. Tears streamed down his face as he shook his head back and forth. “I didn’t- That’s not- It’s-”

“It doesn’t matter to me what you _wanted_ this to look like. You propositioned a fifteen-year-old boy. Do you know what they do to guys like you in prison?”

The man continued to shake his head as Dean pulled him up by his hair. “They brand you and they fuck you… Do you think they care if it hurts? If you scream? Do you think the guards care about you? You fuck _children_. _Their_ children… Even if they’re not. Child fuckers are the scum of the world in jail. There’ll be no protection for you. Not even if you give your ass over willingly. But guess what? You won’t have to worry about that though, love… Cause you’re never gonna make it there.”

Dean’s smile turned feral as he smashed the fist wrapped around the brick into the side of the guy’s head. The skin swelled and bone caved. The first hit didn’t draw blood, but Dean wasn’t stopping with just one blow. He adjusted his grip and smashed the brick down a second time, groaning when the warm blood splashed his face. His fingers slipped from the guy’s hair and he snickered as the dude whimpered, hitting the ground.

He was still conscious. But barely. Dean kicked his shin and yelled a sharp _Hey_ in an attempt to keep his victim awake. Squatting in the filth and blood that was pooling on the dirty concrete, he leaned close to the man and half whispered, half sung the chorus from “Please Forgive Me”.

He brought the brick down over and over, the blood flew, covering every surface in a fine mist. Dean thought of his sister… the brother he had never gotten to know… every injustice brought upon him… Tears spilt from his eyes as he smashed the crumbling brick one last time. Dean knew the guy had been dead for a while. That hadn’t stopped him.

He dropped the brick in a cooling puddle of blood. Steeling his expression, he stood and glanced around the alley. His foot connected with the man’s side and he wiped the tears away, salt water cutting through the fine mist of blood before his stained hands smeared the clear tracks. Bending down again, he searched pockets for ID and money. Money he found. The guy had close to a grand on him. Mostly singles and twenties. No ID though. He shoved his hand in the guy’s other pocket and found the zippo he had been flicking. Flipping it over in his palm, he saw it had a picture of the F-117 engraved on the front. Dean chuckled.

He threw his head back and straight up laughed. His dad _built_ those jets. It was perfect. He stood up, wiped his hands on the sweats he _knew_ were covered in blood, and searched for his dropped bag. Dean gingerly lifted the bottle of water strapped inside the front mesh and stripped off his tank top and sweats. He toed off the beat up sneakers he always hid from his mom and tossed them on the sweats. The socks came next and he twisted the top off the disposable bottle. As he was crouched down, he spotted a half drank bottle of Diet Coke by the guy’s elbow. Dean knew that Coke cut through blood, so Diet Coke should too. At least, in theory. Dean snatched the bottle and dumped the contents over both hands and rubbed. He sloshed the dark liquid up and over his arms, not trying too hard as he knew the Henley in his bag would cover the rest.

Dean washed his hands, face, and head as best as possible with the water. It would have to work until he could slip in an _actual_ bathroom. He pulled clean clothes from the main pocket and quickly dressed himself. The bloody clothes went in their place and the whole thing was zipped. Dean dragged it down the concrete a few blocks until he reached an abandoned ‘warmth’ barrel. He pitched the bag inside and lit a couple of singles from the guy’s money roll. There was a forgotten bottle of vodka next to the barrel and Dean dumped its contents over the edges of the fire. The flames licked the side of the container and Dean sighed in satisfaction over a job well done.

“My momma was pissed you know…” Dean glanced at his lawyer when he paled, causing the chained man to snickered. “Told her that some dudes got the jump on my and took my bag. She promised not to tell the cops, but I know she wanted to. Agreed that I needed to maybe carry a knife on me if I was going to walk alone at night. I laughed at the suggestion, but she wasn’t kidding. Got a pretty nice five-inch blade and ankle strap the next week. No one ever questioned the lighter. People assumed my dad gave it to me. Little did they know...”

“What I don’t get…” The Officer by the camera pipped up. “How does a fifteen-year-old kid show up at Coca-Cola HQ covered in blood? Even a trip to a bathroom wouldn’t have gotten it all off.”

Dean laughed. “Well… As luck would have it, it rained. Not hard, but hard enough that I got fairly wet. This combined with my trip into the 7-11 down the road… Yeah, momma didn’t notice much.”

“Coke to get rid of blood?” The camera Officer scoffed. Dean decided he would be called Rusty. He looked like a Rusty. “You’re fulla _shit_.”

“Dude… I took AP Chem when you were in diapers. I coulda been a Chemist. Instead, I became an Engineer. Coke dissolves blood. Breaks it down and lysis pulls apart the red blood cells. The Georgia Highway Patrol buys it by the _truckload_ and cleans the highways of blood with it. Plus… Momma worked at Coca-Cola. You don’t think I’d know that?”

Officer Rusty looked down at the floor. Dean knew he had stunned him into silence. It was a shame he couldn’t kill the cocky 20-something year old. He would be fun to mess with. “Fuck, ask one of your own CSI’s if you don’t believe me. They’ll tell you the exact same thing.”

The door jostled open and the deputy that had left earlier came in juggling a few bags. Dean’s lawyer jumped from his chair and hurried to the cop’s side to remove a few of the brown bags. He grabbed the six-pack of Coke bottles from under the deputy’s arm.

“A whole six-pack?” The lawyer questioned. “Good thing you got it in plastic. Fuck.”

Dean smiled at the expletive. He turned to the deputy going through each bag to make sure there were no plastic forks or knives. “You gonna monitor my intake? Gotta watch me while I piss? Wanna hold it for me?”

“Dean…” His lawyer whispered. “Don’t provoke him.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed the nearest bag and pulled it towards his side to reach the food inside.

“Ah… Food. You know how long it’s been since I’ve had Red Robin? Never really been anywhere there’s been one in... Feels like _ages_.” Dean breathed deep, the smell of grease and freedom filling his nostrils and invading his senses. As he pulled his food out of the bags, he started to hum.

“What are you humming now, Dean?”

“10000 Maniacs. “Because the Night”. You’ve heard of it, yeah?”

His lawyer rolled his eyes and flopped back in his chair. “Have I heard it? What do you think? Only a million times.”

“That-a-boy.” Dean grinned as he tore into his burger viciously. Little snuffly noises of contentment. He chewed with his mouth full, not caring if anyone thought he was a gross pig.

“Mr Smith.” Dean flinched at his lawyer’s professional tone. “I just wanted to remind you that this conversation is being recorded. You _are_ damning yourself the more you talk. You know this, right?”

Dean nodded as he shoved a handful of spicy sweet potato fries in his mouth.

“Let the record reflect that our client has continued to waived his right to remain silent.” Dean’s lawyer sighed. “Let the record also reflect that we have attempted to convince him otherwise.”

“It has been duly noted, Sir.” The Sheriff smiled. “Whenever you are ready to continue, Mr Smith…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean spoke around the food he was _attempting_ to savour. If this didn’t go the way he wanted, he would never get to eat burgers again. “Give me some time there, _buddy cop_. Man’s got needs, ya know?”

“Listen here, _Agent_ Smith-” The Sheriff’s face turned a bright shade of beet red. He sure was fun to rile up.

“Sheriff.” Dean’s lawyer spoke quietly. “Please, don’t provoke our client. It wouldn’t look good for you in court now, would it?”

The Sheriff huffed and sat back down in his seat. Dean could tell he was fuming mad. It’s a good thing he couldn’t do anything about it. Wouldn’t want to see _that_ court case. The FBI could be really picky about their Agents. Serial Killer or otherwise. Dean chuckled slightly under his breath. Serial Killer. He guessed that’s what he was. Never thought about it like that. He did what he had to do to protect himself and his family. That’s all. He wasn’t a sadistic fucker- not like Dahmer or Gacy. He didn’t prey on kids or rape anyone. He sure as hell never _ate_ anyone.

Dean shook his head and tossed the crumpled wrapper into the bag. He folded his hands and waited. Patiently.

His lawyer leaned over and whispered near his ear. “Did you need a break? Do you want me to save your pie for you?”

“No. No break. I’m fine- I’m fine. But yeah, save the pie.” Dean took in his lawyer’s face. It was a lot to grasp when you didn’t know the story. He was taking it surprisingly well for having this _gigantic_ bombshell dropped on him. No one knew about Dean’s kills. No one. He kept everything so tight to the vest that his own FBI Partner never knew there was anything up. Dean found it funny as there was almost always a kill when they were in another city investigating something else. Dean was that good though. Until this time.

“It was like a dam opened up. I almost couldn’t help myself. Sebby gone, I was in High School. Varsity Baseball try-outs coming up. I carried this aluminium bat with me everywhere. It was decent, a little small for my growing body, but it worked well for batting cages. I split my time between the Club and the cages. I had started learning to drive. Parents bought me a 94 BMW 325is in metallic silver. I was allowed to take it out alone as long as I didn’t joyride with friends. That was easy.

“The car did allow me to take trips to pick out my projects. There was this abandoned warehouse- they’ve since torn it down. But at the time? A perfect setting. I drove to the Georgia State Campus. Wanted to find a pretty girl. It’s not that hard, you know. All it takes is a little charisma and chicks will eat of your hand. It helped that I drove a Beemer. Generally did. Girls take one look at that car and wanna cream their drawers. Guys? Well… let’s just say I caught all _kinds_ of tail with my convertible. It’s a proven fact. Did _research_ on it with the Bureau. None of it sanctioned, of course… But if you can’t have fun in life…” Dean shook his head and smiled at the memories.

“But Michela… She was a _beaut_. Can’t say that I had a type… But if I did- she would be it. Pretty little ethnic thing, all bronze skin and reddish-brown hair. She was pretty. That girl was such a spit-fire. She was a Sophomore at State studying to be an Anthropologist. Of course, she thought I was another student there. Told her I was studying to become an Architect. Asked her if she wanted to take a ride with me and I would show her all that Atlanta had to offer.”

Dean had thought it had been surprisingly easy to get this chick to come with him. If he was her? Not so easy there, bucko.

“So? You go to State?” The girl asked as she sat in the passenger seat, all golden legged in her short shorts and her spaghetti tee. It was April, but very unseasonably warm.

“Yeah. I’m a Freshman…” Dean lied as he pulled onto the Highway.

“Ah. I’m just finishing my Sophomore year. Haven’t seen you around campus… Do you live in the dorms?” The girl leaned over and ran a pink painted fingernail up Dean’s hand as he shifted into third.

“Naw… Alpharetta.” Dean lied. “Too close to live in the dorms, ya know? Still at home. ‘Rents are pretty cool though. Gotta spot over the garage… _Very_ secluded…”

“Think we could go there for a bit when you’re done showing me around?” The girl cooed.

“Sweetheart…” Dean turned slightly to face her. There wasn’t a ton of traffic on the highway, he could afford to take his eyes off the road for a second. “You haven’t even told me your name…”

The girl laughed. Dean wanted to punch her for the crystal-like tone that left her mouth. She sounded too much like Sebby. “It’s Michela. My Roman Catholic Mom wanted a boy. Saint Michael, she said… But, I was born. So Michela it is. Stupid, made up name if you ask me.”

Dean smiled as he pulled off onto an exit. “I think it is a pretty name. Michael with an ‘a’ on the end. Sounds exotic.” _God_ , Dean wanted to puke. Where the _fuck_ did this shit come from?

He pointed out some of the local architecture and made sure that she wasn’t paying any attention to where they were _actually_ going.

“What are you listening to?” Michela complained as she turned the radio down.

“Hey!” Dean slapped her hand out of the way. “My momma just got this for me. It’s the soundtrack to _Schindler’s List_. Respect the radio. Driver picks the music… and I want to listen to this song.”

Dean knew she was rolling her eyes as he flipped the knob up further. He smiled on as the violins soothed his soul. It helped him centre- relax. He was going to need it. Dean pulled into a vacant lot and drove behind the building, the concrete broken and weeds already threatening to reclaim the land.

“What are we doing here?” Michela scoffed. “This isn’t an _architectural_ landmark.”

Dean smiled as he put the car in neutral and set his break. “It’s not. But there is a _beautiful_ fresco on the third floor that you just have to see. We’re working on having it removed and preserved. You can even ask Professor Atreides when you get back, he’s head of the Art Department. Work study with him is awesome.”

“Oh. Okay.” Michela stepped from the car and Dean winced as she slammed her door. That right there was a good enough reason to not want to go back to his _imaginary_ place with her. It didn’t matter how smokin’ hot she was.

“Follow me.” Dean held out his hand. He really didn’t want her to take it, but he wanted his story to be believable. He also needed her to think that she was safe. At least for a little while.

Dean let her up a rickety staircase. He had been by the site earlier in the day to set up what he needed. She was almost the same size of Dean and that could pose a problem if she was athletic. Dean was no slouch though. He played Baseball and Football. He spent extra time in the weight room and boxed at the Club almost every day. He heard a stair groan under his feet and he stepped up gingerly.

“Careful on that second step. Paul really needs to get it fixed. It’s just around this corner.” Dean smiled as he pulled her closer. “It can get a little dangerous, so you’ll need to stay close to me.”

Michaela smiled and nodded as she stepped into Dean’s circle. He released her hand and snaked an arm around her waist. Fingers curled over his as she gasped from the touch. “Are you sure that you didn’t bring me here just to make out?”

Dean nodded slowly and pulled her tight. “Well…. Maybe...” Dean started as he backed her into the large room. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Michela didn’t disappoint. Well… actually, she _did_ , but Dean couldn’t let her know that. She ran her hands up and down his tee covered back and scratched lightly at the skin on the back of his neck. “Wow… You are just…”

“Yeah baby…” Dean moaned as he mouthed at her neck and ear. “Don’t leave me hanging…”

She thrust her hips against Dean, rubbing at his crotch. It was times like this that he wished his teenaged hormones would just kick in. No such luck.

“Don’t you wanna get hard for me, honey?” Michela purred in Dean’s ear as he continued to walk her backwards. No matter what she said, unless she was hiding a dick in those daisy dukes…

Dean finished shuffling Michela into the room. He nuzzled against the soft skin behind her ear, nipping lightly at her golden flesh. “Oh, _darling_... The plans I have for you….”

She gasped as he spun her around and shoved her, face first into the tarp he had hung up earlier. The blue plastic draped over the ground and up the wall about ten feet. Dean hoped it would be large enough for what he had in mind. He wanted to leave her here, but pack the tarp with him.

Michela’s head bounced off the concrete under the tarp and Dean laughed as she cried out in pain. “Why- wha-” Her words began to slur. Dean knew she had a concussion. That would do no good.

Dean pulled a small baggie out of his pocket and shook the powder. He chuckled, pushing her back onto the floor with his foot on the way to grab a water bottle. He realised at the last second he needed gloves and pulled the new black leather from the Publix bag he brought his supplies in. It was a shame he would have to burn the gloves when he was done. They fit _so_ well. He twisted the top off the water and dumped half of it over Michela. She cried and sputtered as the water invaded her nose and mouth.

“Now, now… Don’t you go drowning on me…” Dean emptied the entire contents of the baggie into the water, twisting the cap back on and giving it a shake to dissolve the powder. “I have a present for you…”

Dean knelt down on the tarp, careful to stay out of the water. He pulled Michela up by her ponytail and leaned her against his leg. “I want you to drink all of this, okay? Don’t go spitting it back out at me… It wouldn’t be very nice.”

Dean released her hair and tilted her head back. He winced at the damage already done to the front of her face. It was obvious the fall broke her nose. Bright purple and black bruises were blossoming across her cheeks and swelling her eyes shut. She was close to passing out. “This may hurt a little, baby…. But don’t worry. I’ll take _good_ care of you.” Dean grabbed her nose with his left hand and pinched- hard. He twisted the lid off the bottle and pushed it between her lips.

Michela struggled, kicking and flailing at the lack of oxygen in her lungs. She sputtered through the water going down her throat and into her stomach and lungs. Dean forced the rest of the liquid down and tossed the bottle toward the back of the tarp. He pushed her off his lap and sneered. “Stupid little _bitch_. I told you not to spit it back at me.”

Dean stalked toward the corner of the room, his back turned toward his victim for a split second. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She could barely see, let alone _actually_ get up and walk. He grabbed the aluminium bat he had stored in the room and swung it a few times. This was a spare bat. It was a little short for him, slightly awkward to actually use. But he figured that it would be good enough for this job.

“Oh, Michela…” Dean sang out. “Wanna hear a song?”

“I-” Michela fell to the tarp. She moaned and mumbled incoherently.

Dean smiled as he swung the bat into her leg. He paused as she screamed out in pain, but didn’t hear the tell-tale snap of a break. “We can’t go having that.”

Dean swung the bat harder at her shin. This time, the bone snapped in half as she screamed. “Ah… That’s better. Shall we try the other?”

Dean didn’t wait to hear her reply. He swung the bat for a third time and connected with her arm instead of her shin. “ _Well, I don't know, but I've been told… You never slow down, you never grow old_ …” Dean started as he danced around her body.

“ _I'm tired of screwin' up, tired of going down_.” _Crack_ went the bat against her left thigh. Her cries turned to whimpers as the cocaine kicked in. “ _Tired of myself, tired of this town_.”

Michela tried her best to push up on her arms, but it was obvious that the broken one would support no weight. Dean decided to take care of the other one for her. He brought the bat lightly back against his back and swung as hard as his muscles allowed. “Oops.” Dean missed her arm completely and smacked her right in the stomach. The scream that left her mouth was music to Dean’s ears. The puking? Not very much to Dean’s liking. It was then he realised that a little forethought on his part would make clean-up easier.

“You wanna sing with me?” Dean waved the bat like a conductor’s baton. “ _Oh, my my, oh, hell yes… Honey, put on that party dress_ … Why aren’t you singing with me?” Dean cracked the bat against her arm this time, the bone now jutting from the skin near her elbow.

“ _Buy me a drink, sing me a song… Take me as I come 'cause I can't stay long_...” Dean sighed and crouched down. “Michela… It’s not nice to leave me hanging. Come on… I’m sure you know the words… _Last dance with Mary Jane… One more time to kill the pa-in_. No? Suit yourself then.”

Dean stood, tired of her _non-involvement_. He had really hoped that this one fought more. “I guess it’s time to meet the maker… If you believe in that sorta thing.”

Dean swung the bat three more times in quick succession. He got a little excited when on the second swing her head split open like an overripe melon. Brain matter clung to the bat on his third swing and he let it clatter to the ground, the aluminium ringing through the cavernous space.

“You know… that tarp was a _bitch_ to get down to burn. I really don’t recommend using one that big. She really didn’t bleed that much. Such a shame.” Dean huffed.

“Why I oughta…” Officer Rusty started toward Dean, his fists clenched in rage.

“Jim… That’ll be enough.” The Sheriff stated from his seat at the side of the table. Thankfully, he was closer to Dean’s FBI _appointed_ attorney. Dean didn’t care that Rusty’s name was actually Jim. He would still call him Rusty.

Officer _Rusty_ huffed a terrible sigh and went back to his place at the door. Dean smiled and winked at the frazzled law enforcement agent. “Must be a shame there… You a _big_ , _bad_ protector of the innocent?”

“Dean…” His lawyer hissed. “Please stop. This does you more harm-”

“-than good. I know.” Dean waved one of his chained hands around as best he could. “You wanna know the _real_ kicker there, Officer _Rusty_... She had left a hoodie in my car. One of those _garish_ throwbacks that colleges like to put out to make a quick buck and silly, _stupid_ college girls eat up. It had some kinda owl on it. _Georgia Evening College_. Fuck… They haven’t called State that since the 40’s. Stupid girl… Gave it to one of those _Charity_ drives that my momma’s church is always throwing. I snuck it in with a bunch of other stuff. No one ever knew who it came from.”

“That’s sick.” The Sheriff commented. “You were only fifteen?”

“Yeah. I was. Going through a rough time too. Ever lost someone, Sheriff _Dickweed_? Cause it felt like I was torn in two. I still carried the pain of losing my brother. My mother. My father. Then I get this _shiny new family_ , and I lose my sister too. Do you know what that does to a person?” Dean sighed and bent his head down to run his fingers through his hair. “It’s not good. Let me tell you that. So, before you go judging me, Sheriff _Fatty McFatso_...”

“Mr Smith!” His lawyer bellowed. “Cease and desist this _second_!”

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He tried to cross his arms and failed, the chain too short. It made him look like a little kid. But he could see the heavy set man doing the calculations the way the Bureau taught them to do at Quantico. The bodies were piling up in his head.

"Can I get a coke? My throat's a bit sore."

"Don't want anybody _claiming_ we don't care for those in questioning..." the Sheriff grumbled, pushing a bottle across to Dean. The red labelled plastic fell over and rolled towards him. Dean laughed when he saw the name on the bottle. “Really, dude? You think _teasing_ me in a time like this is appropriate?” He caught it using the short chain and then sighed, shoving the bottle with John’s name on it. His attorney leaned forward and plucked the bottle from between his trapped hands, and then cracked open a different bottle and placed it in front of Dean. Dean twisted it around and stared at the name ‘Cassie’. He shrugged.

"So... do you want the stories behind them all... or just the important ones?"

“They’re all important _Agent_.”

“To somebody, yeah. Okay, you can have basic info for the _shit_ ones… But I warn you… The rest?” Dean grinned, his face contorting in a mockery of kindness. “They’ll give you _nightmares_. That work for you, Sheriff… McFarson?” Dean’s eyes flicked down to the little gold metallic nameplate over a pocket.

“Of- of course, Agent Smith.” The Sheriff turned toward his lawyer. “I think that maybe we should wrap this up in an hour or so… I’ve got a wife at home expecting me for supper.”

“Sheriff.” Dean’s lawyer deadpanned. “Don’t you think that he deserves to know if he’s being charged with anything? Last that I checked, we haven’t talked about the reason you arrested him in the first place.”

“I can hold him legally-”

“For forty-eight hours. I _do_ know the law. Last I checked, my office at the Bureau has a diploma that states I have an SJD.”

“That’s like a PhD for Lawyers, dude.” Dean piped up. “Not sure why I warrant all the hoopla… But the Bureau says he stays…”

“For now.” His lawyer sighed and turned toward Dean to whisper. “That doesn’t mean they’re not gonna send someone to Bumfuck, Montana the next plane they can get out. You _know_ that, right?”

“Gentlemen. Do we need to leave the room?” The deputy at the camera leered.

Dean winked at the _obvious_ bigot. “Why? You need some kinky _guy on guy_ porn for your collection?”

His attorney inhaled the drink of Coke he was supposed to have taken and sputtered for a few seconds until his airway cleared. “Mr. Smith…. might I remind you…”

“Yeah, yeah. Play nice.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Fuck.”

“So there was this chick at school. She was a real piece of work. My parents belong to one of those _Evangelical_ churches that litter the South. You know the kind?” Dean didn’t wait for a nod. “They did all these _team building_ trips in the summer. I hated it, but it got me out of the house. There was this girl…. Lily Turner. She was real pretty. A wholesome kind of chick. All _sweaters_ and _knee skirts_...”

Dean glanced at the Sheriff. He actually seemed to be typing something into his tablet. “So... She was a bitch. Totally two-faced when her parents weren’t around. Called me cruel things because I was adopted. About how my real parents must have realised I was a burden… How no one wanted me and that momma and daddy took me in out of _charity_... So I pushed her. Off the side of Stone Mountain. Fuck her.”

“And this was when?” Sheriff McFarson questioned.

“I was fifteen… So, July 94? She meant nothing. Literally. Couldn’t even die right. Took two whole weeks. Thankfully she stayed in a coma the whole time. Served that bitch right though.” Dean sighed. “There were lots like that…”

The officer by the camera flinched. Dean smiled. “Are you keeping count over there? Cause the bodies start to pile up, you know… I don’t have the best record for staying calm.”

Dean stared off in toward the corner of the room. His smile turned shy and his voice dropped, almost to a whisper. The nostalgia was starting to kick in- big time. “There was this one though. Oh man…”

“What was her name?” _Rusty_ asked, voice soft.

“ _Her_ name? You don’t know me very well, _boy_...” Dean chuckled, raising his voice for the whole room to hear. “Jonathan was drop dead gorgeous. For an older guy. He was a Stockbroker. Mid 40’s… Bleach blond hair and a body _anyone_ would die for. Huh, he kinda did.” Dean smirked at that. “It was shortly after I turned sixteen. I took a drive over to my friend Jack’s house in Alpharetta… He was at the gas station filling up his Audi.”

The man at the pump across from Dean belonged in a magazine. Or, maybe on a Billboard in Times Square. He was model quality. The kind of guy that just _had_ to be gay. Dean let the handle of his gas nozzle go and tried his hardest to lean up against his BMW, one foot cocked on the back wheel. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This was always the part he had the hardest time with.

Dean smiled his best shy smile and crinkled his nose. He knew he was good looking. He also could pass for eighteen. And right now? That’s what mattered the most. It was clear this guy was over forty. No matter how good he looked. Dean couldn’t be jail bait. He wasn’t planning on a kill today, but he _was_ an opportunist.

“Hey there.” The guy spoke as he twisted his gas cap back on.

“See something you like?” Dean smiled as he stretched his arms behind him, his shirt twisting and exposing a small sliver of pale skin.

The guy approached Dean and ran a finger up the smooth, freckled skin of Dean’s forearm, laying Goosebumps in its wake. “Maybe… You offering?”

“That depends…” Dean turned slightly, blocking the guy from getting too close. “You gonna introduce yourself?”

The guy stuck out his hand. Dean tried to not laugh. This guy was a real businessman. “Name’s Jonathan.”

“Dan. But my friends call me Danny.” Dean lied. He shook the older man’s hand and pulled him close, slotting him against his body. “You interested?”

“Baby…” Jonathan purred as he nuzzled Dean neck. “Am I ever… This place got an outside bathroom?”

“Gotta get the key…” Dean moaned as Jonathan palmed his rapidly filling cock. “...Pay for gas…”

“I got that. You pull that _bad boy_ of yours around the corner, yeah?” Jonathan pulled back and Dean whimpered.

“Yeah…” Dean sighed and pulled away. He started to fish his wallet from his back pocket.

“Naw… I got it, baby.” Jonathan smiled and turned from Dean, heading in to the convenience store.

 

Dean took a second to gather his wits. He needed to come up with a plan- and fast. His new bat was in the backseat. The concrete cured a few days now. It was heavy, but he felt it was up to the task. There were cameras in the lot, so killing this dude here wasn’t a good idea. He needed to lure him somewhere remote. Maybe- Dean laughed as he climbed into his car. It was a great idea.

He pulled next to the men's room and hopped out, making sure to lock his car. He pocketed the keys and did his best to look sexy leaning up against the building.

“Fuck…” Jonathan ran a shaky hand through his hair. “You are _gorgeous_.”

Dean pushed off the wall and slinked toward his mark. “One could say the same thing about you… Ya get the key?”

Jonathan rattled the hand that held the key on a long piece of wood- and a plastic bag that had a box of condoms and lube in it. Dean scoffed at the fact that a gas station would have lube… But, it would work.

Well… it wouldn’t, but Jonathan didn’t need to know that. Dean grabbed the key and roughly shoved it in the lock. He twisted- hard and pushed the door open one handed. 

Jonathan followed and threw the bag on the sink as Dean closed and locked the door. He pushed Jonathan up against the wall and sank to his knees in one fluid motion.

“Oh yeah…” The guy moaned as Dean palmed his cock through the light fabric of his khakis. “You’re gonna look so good… All stretched out over my dick. Those lips-”

“You get condoms?” Dean breathed heavy. There was no way he was giving this random ass guy a bareback blow job in a gas station bathroom. AIDS was a real thing…

“You don’t need one-” The guy started.

“Um… Yeah. No glove, no love. Sorry dude.” Dean acted like he was going to stand up. He smiled in victory as the guy grabbed the box and practically _shoved_ it in his face.

“There.” Jonathan leaned his head against the wall with a _thunk_. Dean knew he was gonna be quick.

Dean slipped the older man’s cock from his pants and stroked it to full hardness. He ignored the bead of moisture tempting him at the tip and ripped open a condom packet. He deftly rolled the latex over the guy’s erection and grimaced at the thought of tasting rubber.

“Come on, baby…” Jonathan moaned.

Dean took a deep breath and swallowed the guys cock down to the root in one swift motion. He wasn’t very big. Dean thought it funny that a guy that good looking- He moaned around the length, just wanting to get this over with.

“Oh… yeah…” The guy wrapped his fingers around Dean’s neck and pressed forward as Dean sucked him. “That’s the spot… You’re so good…”

Dean rolled his eyes. Latex was disgusting. It felt like he was chewing a balloon. Blow jobs? Well… It’s not like he didn’t like giving them… Dean hummed the theme song to M.A.S.H. as he moved his mouth back and forth, swallowing as he took him deep.

“Oh, Dan- Give it to me.”

Dean pulled all the way off Jonathan’s cock. He did his best to tongue the slit and press flat against the thick vein. He swallowed Jonathan down again, letting the older man press his face into his groin. Dean didn’t worry about choking, but he wanted to make it good. He alternated sucking and swallowing, his spit running out of his mouth and onto his chin.

Jonathan’s hands tightened in Dean’s hair and for a second he tried to pull away, not wanting to get a mouth full of come before realising that the guy was wearing a rubber.

“Shit… I’m gonna…” Jonathan thrust twice into Dean’s mouth. He swallowed as fast as he could, his throat constricting around the older man’s cock, milking him.

Dean relaxed back on his haunches and shook out his jaw. He needed to get more practice.

“Was that good for you?” Jonathan panted as he pulled his tan khakis and boxers up. He gently pulled the condom off his flaccid cock and threw it in the trash by the toilet.

“Oh yeah…” Dean lied. He hadn’t even stayed hard. “But it’ll be better when you fuck me.”

“Rea- really?” Jonathan whispered.

“Oh yeah… But not here.” Dean extended a hand to the older man. “Do you trust me?”

Dean couldn’t believe he had convinced Jonathan to come with him. The guy _actually_ got into Dean’s car after leaving his own a couple of blocks away in a residential area. Dean wouldn’t get in a car with anyone he didn’t know. They could be a Serial Killer. He rolled his eyes and turned up the song on the radio. _Bang and Blame_ played through the Bose sound system filling the luxury car. He didn’t want to hear about Jonathan’s job as a Broker, or that his mother was sick…. He didn’t want to know what the guy liked to eat for supper or his favourite movie.

Fifteen minutes into the trip Dean was seriously trying to remember why he thought this guy was hot. It’s no wonder he was single. For starters, he was too _gung-ho_ about everything. That, and no one could stand to hear about his baseball card collection for more than a few minutes before wanting to _shoot_ themselves. It was a shame he didn’t have a gun.

“Well. We’re here!” Dean enthusiastically announced as the pulled into the park. The woods were a good place to ditch a body. Dean shut the car off and unbuckled. “Gotta grab a few things out of the back. Why don’t you go sit on the hood and wait, yeah?”

Jonathan nodded as Dean opened the door and stepped from his car onto the hard grass. He glanced at his surroundings. The grass was long enough to cover his tire tracks, but short enough to hide the fact that a car had parked there. It hadn’t rained in a week and a half, so the ground was firm, the tires wouldn’t sink into it. There were signs that people came out here every so often and used it as a party spot- a few broken beer bottles and used condoms littered the ground. Dean didn’t have to worry about leaving any evidence behind.

The woods weren’t very far away; Dean could probably drag the body on the tarp. He grabbed the square package and bat from the backseat of the car and made his way to the trunk. Ripping the cheap outer casing, he spread the blue plastic out on the hard ground a few yards away as to not get any blood spatter on his precious _baby_. He pushed the bat under the car, but within reach and smiled. It was _perfect_. Dean sauntered to the front of the car where Jonathan sat.

“Hey, babe.” Jonathan pulled Dean by the belt loops into his personal space. Dean went willingly, his body pliant and loose. He crowded against the older man and nuzzled his cheek.

“Hi.” Dean smiled and kitten licked the salty skin under his mark’s ear. “You wanna do this?”

Jonathan wound his arms around Dean and rubbed his hard-on against Dean. “Aww, baby. Need a little _stimulation_?” Jonathan snaked a hand down Dean’s pants and cupped his semi.

“Yeah… I guess that I just need a little _external_ stimulation. Wanna take this somewhere a little more _comfortable_?” Dean pulled Jonathan’s hand out of his pants and worked his fingers in between Jonathan’s in a tight grip. “Come on. Let’s go get _naked_.”

Jonathan nodded and smiled as Dean pulled away and started to move him toward the back of the car. The man went willingly. Dean figured that he really must have been hard up for sex. Dean was still a virgin, so this really was uncharted territory. He had given and received a few blow jobs, but that was as far as he ever let anyone go. He was saving himself… Not necessarily for someone _special_ , but he wanted his first time to be _memorable_.

“Oh, yeah…” Jonathan moaned as Dean pushed him lightly onto the tarp. “You’ve thought this through, huh?” Jonathan’s hands strayed to Dean’s belt, flipping the leather through the buckle. Dean pushed his hands out of the way and unzipped his pants, pushing the denim and his boxer briefs down his legs.

He smirked as Jonathan started on his own clothes quickly stripping, throwing them in a messy pile off the tarp. Dean finished undressing, taking the time to fold his clothes and place them in a neat pile on the trunk of his car, his shoes on top. He leaned over to kiss the older man, his teeth biting into Jonathan’s bottom lip.

“I gotta get the stuff-” Dean nipped again. “-left it in the back seat.”

Jonathan nodded and dropped a hand to his erection. Dean smiled and winked as the older man stroked himself lazily. He hurried to driver’s door and flipped back the seat to grab at the plastic bag Jonathan had deposited on the seat. He fumbled in the dark as the lube had rolled out and under the passenger seat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean whispered under his breath as his cock caught against the cup holder. He stretched a little further and fingertip rolled the lube from under the seat. “Yahtzee!”

He practically scrambled back to Jonathan, dropping the bag with the lube and condoms next to the older man’s right hip. He smirked as he settled himself on top of the older man and bent his head down for a kiss. “Mind if I’m up here for a little bit?”

Jonathan shook his head and snaked his hands around Dean to cup his ass. He kneaded and pulled the tight flesh. Dean thought it felt _pretty good_ , so he moaned and leaned forward, peppering Jonathan’s neck and chest with kisses.

“You’re so _pretty_.” Jonathan sighed as Dean snuck a foot out and under the car, rolling his weighted bat closer to his body. Luckily, it was dark enough outside that his mark wouldn’t see what he was planning- until it was too late.

“I _am_ pretty, aren’t I?” Dean purred as he leaned back, arching slightly to palm his bat. “But I think you’d be prettier…. In _red_.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jonathan moaned as Dean’s hips rocked against his.

“Yeah.” Dean chuckled and brought the bat up to swing. He couldn’t get a lot of power behind the arch from his spot on top of the man, but when the bat connected to his head? The concrete dented the temporal bone and Jonathan cried out in pain.

Dean hopped up from his spot and pulled Jonathan to his knees by his hair. “You fucker…” Dean swung again, his full weight behind the heavy bat, connecting with Jonathan’s head before he fell back to the tarp. “You think you can take advantage?”

Dean kicked Jonathan in the ribs as he heaved on the blue plastic. “Don’t you go dying on me yet, asshole. I’m only getting started.”

Dean swung the bat over and over, he took out both of Jonathan’s knees, broke every rib… The blood leaving tiny droplets on Dean’s pale, naked skin. He realised at the last second that they were too close to the car and that the first thing he would need to do would be take her for a bath.

“Look what you made me do!” Dean yelled at the unconscious man in front of him. He brought his bat down onto Jonathan’s face. The cops would have a hard time identifying him from dental records as Dean smashed in the remainder of his teeth. Dean bashed the side of his victim’s face again and winced as an eyeball popped from its socket and dangled by the occipital nerve. He was never happier that he used a tarp.

Dean leaned down in front of Jonathan’s face. The right side was caved in, the left so swollen that he wasn’t sure that the man could even breathe. “Jonathan… I want you to listen to me, if you can…” Dean winced at the bits of bone and hair sticking to the man’s face.

“I didn’t do this because I was targeting you. Just know that it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Or, the right time for me.”

He smashed Jonathan’s face into the tarp and stood. “Time to say good night. _If you could see yourself now, baby… The tables have turned, the whole world hinges on your swings_...” Dean sang softly.

“ _Your secret life of indiscreet discretions_ ….” Dean pushed his bare foot in the man’s face, the blood squishing between his toes. “ _Don’t point your finger… You know that’s not my thing_.”

Dean moved his foot and stepped lightly on Jonathan’s throat, fully cutting off his oxygen. “Bang and Blame, baby” He stepped harder, placing all of his weight behind his step and turned his head.

The crunch of breaking bones caused Dean to wince. “Damn it. Gotta get used to that.”

He pulled his foot back and dragged it against the plastic in a feeble attempt to wipe Jonathan off of him. Dean shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He needed to clean up the body _and_ himself. Figuring it would be better to clean up before getting dressed, Dean slipped Jonathan’s too large shoes onto his feet and quickly laced up the sneakers. He wrapped the body securely in the tarp and dragged it toward the wooded area a few hundred feet away. Dean forgot how tiresome dragging could be. Jonathan was probably 180lbs of nice, _dead_ weight. It was nothing Dean couldn’t handle though.

“So… I stashed the body in the woods, took a quick dip in the pond I spied on the way there and drove back to Alpharetta. The car went to the car wash and I went on to Jack’s house with the excuse of blowing a tire on the way there. He never suspected, and they didn’t find Jonathan’s body for another five months. I guess some hikers found him.” Dean shrugged.

The room was silent. Dean could have heard a pin drop. He figured that the other kills were small potatoes compared to this one.

“Well.” Sheriff McFarson cut through the silence, his voice booming. “I think we’ve had enough blood and guts _True Crime_ stories for this evening. William? Could you let Shane know that we are ready for Inmate transport?”

“William… What kind of a name is _William_?” Dean scoffed. “Your new name is Liam. I think it works better. Rusty, Liam, and Sheriff McFatso. Quite the trio --”

“Mr Smith.” The Sheriff bellowed before Dean’s lawyer could interject. “Need I remind you that _you_ are the one in custody right now… I would keep your _big_ mouth shut.”

“Or what?” Dean smiled. “You’ll _hurt_ me? Might I remind _you_ that I am still a Federal Agent. Innocent until a _trial_ proves me guilty. And you… You don’t have a leg to fuckin’ _stand_ on. One fingerprint does not a murder make.”

The Sheriff let out a shaky breath as he hitched his pants up by the black belt. He turned to Dean’s lawyer. “You tell that client of yours to keep his mouth shut. I don’t want to hear any more of his back talk.”

“Yeah…” The attorney stood from his spot and motioned for the handcuff keys. “Something tells me that he’s not going to listen. And let me tell you this. _This_ handoff? It better happen under my watch, cause if you touch him? There’s no telling how effective I’ll be in keeping him in line afterwards. Besides, in cases like this? You play along, Sheriff. Keep the suspect calm and cooperative, get more from them. Bureau 101. Isn’t that right, Agent Smith?”

“Fuckin’ right, Pretty Boy.” Dean held his hands up as far as he could get them and rattled the handcuffs. “Think you could let me loose?”

“Not that I don’t want to right now… But the Sheriff says you go to a cell, you go to a cell.” His lawyer smiled as he undid the chain holding the cuffs to the table. Dean knew he was taking in his attire, trying to make sure that he was subdued. Dean didn’t know how he would be able to hurt himself or anyone else for that matter. He was in hospital scrubs and those _stupid_ socks with the little no-slip dots on the bottom.

“I guess… Right now, you’re the boss.” Dean smiled.

“I’m never the boss, and you know it.” The lawyer grimaced and pulled Dean from his seat. “Now come on. If you behave, they’ll let me be alone with you for a few minutes… So… You’d better behave.”

“Aye, aye- Captain.” Dean saluted with one hand, his other awkwardly blocking his face.

“Stop it.”

“Yes’sir.” Dean lowered his hands and smiled. He nodded toward his feet and blatantly stared at his attorney’s ass as he bent over to uncuff the chain from the floor. “Nice ass….”

“I am not even going to acknowledge that comment.” His lawyer straightened up and tossed the keys back to the Sheriff. “Let’s get you out of here and somewhere a little more comfortable.”

“I can think of a bunch of different places that are a lot more _comfortable_ than an 8x8.” Dean shuffled behind Deputy “Rusty”. His lawyer was directly behind him and Dean wanted nothing more than to stop in the hallway and make him rub all over his back. Too bad that wouldn’t happen here.

“Save it for the Judge.” The new Deputy pipped up. Dean recognised him as the Officer that had processed him when he arrived. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, searching his memory.

“Sure, Officer March. Sure... why not?” Dean responded, smile sunny. He heard “Rusty” choke on air and bit his lip to keep from laughing. Then his attorney’s hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed slightly. He knew it was probably time for him to shut up for a little bit.

“Officer March. Thank you for your _kindness_ and _courtesy _in your processing of a Federal Agent. The Bureau thanks you as well.” Dean’s attorney stated.__

“Just doing my duty, Agent…” Officer March smiled.

“Yeah! So where is this cell of mine?” Dean rubbed his hands together. He was jonesing to lay down and stretch his back out. He wasn’t getting any younger.

“Agent Smith.” Officer March gestured toward the open cell door at the end of the hallway. “I apologise for the barren accommodations. We normally only have _real _criminals in our jail.”__

Dean chuckled as he walked past the Officer. “Yeah… I’m sure this will all get cleared up tomorrow. But that’s okay. I can handle one night in the box. You’ll let my lawyer in with me for a bit? Make sure no one comes down here? Attorney/Client privilege and all?”

“Of course Agent Smith. I’ll give you a half hour? Does that work?” Officer March glanced at his watch as Dean and his lawyer walked into the cell and were locked in.

“Plenty of time.” Dean smiled. He made sure to appear genuine. “Thank you for your generosity.”

Officer March nodded and walked to the end of the hallway. He unlocked and opened the door before sliding out and shutting it behind him.

“Cut the crap, Dean.” His lawyer stated, arms across his chest. “They’re gonna hang you. I hope you realise that. And all this other shit? _Fuck_. Really? Is this shit for real?”

“Real as I’m standing in front of you. Oh, and they don’t hang in Montana, Pretty Boy. Now if it were Delaware, New Hampshire, or Washington State? Yeah, it’d be an option.” Dean sat down on the bed. “I haven’t lied. Not once. I figure if they’re gonna put me away…”

“Don’t talk like that.” His lawyer sighed and sat down on the bunk next to him. “They’re not gonna put you away for anything. I’ll make sure of it. Can they link you to any of those murders?”

“Probably not. Most are over twenty years old. There have only been about ten or fifteen in the last few years. I’m smart, Pretty Boy… Don’t leave evidence. I make sure most of the crimes were ruled suicides…. not enough evidence that me saying I was there will even get those cases re-opened.”

“There’s no sta-”

“I know. But I am telling you… They are going to find these stories so fantastical…” Dean smiled. “I won’t lie. I’m totally psychotic at times. Jealousy gets the best of me… The itch inside me causes the rest.”

“It’s not-” His lawyer sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“It’s not. I promise. Never.” Dean rested his hands on his lawyer’s knee. “Really. Now, quit freaking out and figure out how to get me off this charge.”

“Did you kill him, Dean?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Dean nodded.

“Withheld the truth? Obviously. But straight-up lied? No, Dean. You haven’t.” His lawyer stood, pushing Dean’s hand off. “I have a lot of work to do. DA’s office will probably be here tomorrow. You need to stall them. My contacts will work all day tomorrow, but you have to keep talking.”

“I don’t want to be extradited. They’ll fry me.” Dean pursed his lips. “It’s-”

“No one is gonna take you from here and throw you in Federal. They’d have to actually prove that you committed any of those crimes. Besides, Georgia hasn’t allowed the chair since 2001.”

“You’re not helping.” Dean laughed.

“I know…” His lawyer glanced back at him as Officer March stepped up to the door to let him out. “I’m not going to rest until we figure this out, okay?”

Dean nodded and held his hands out in front of him to have the cuffs taken off. Officer March waited until the cell door was secure before reaching through to unlock him. The cuffs were removed and Dean rubbed his wrists absently as March pulled them out of the cell to pocket them.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Pretty Boy.” Dean hollered.

“Get some sleep, Ugly Man.” His lawyer laughed.

Dean smiled and sat back down on his cot. It wasn’t the Ritz, but the places he normally stayed weren’t either. He sighed and laid back on the thin mattress. It had been a stressful day. There was definitely a lot to process. Dean shimmied his scrub pants down to his knees and took himself in hand.

He thought about all of his kills. There were none that got him real hot and bothered. His partner in the FBI… Now that man really got him hot. He hadn’t been his partner very long. Well, very long in Dean’s eyes. It had only been five years. But in those five _glorious_ years Dean had developed quite a spank bank of material. He drew on all of the memories for a good wank tonight. That, and he had an audience.

Dean smiled at the thought of putting on a show for Officer March. Officer Shane was probably one of those _closeted_ types that never fully embraced his sexuality. He rucked his shirt up, exposing his toned chest and abs. Dean tweaked a nipple on the way to his mouth. He moaned around the fist he had brought to his mouth as his other hand deftly wrapped its fingers around his rock hard cock. Dean started his strokes long and soft, just a tease around the hot, weeping head. He fingered his swollen glans and flicked the tip, gathering the moisture on his thumb and rubbing it in the sensitive tissues.

He brought the hand from his mouth down between his legs and pulled and rolled his balls. His strokes gained momentum as he felt the heat pool and roll in his abdomen. Dean moaned and shifted to give Officer March a show. The pull on his skin was _delicious_. Too much friction, not enough pressure, but all pleasure. Dean’s breath hitched as he cried out, hot semen splashing up and over his hand onto his abdomen. He smiled at the small cry he heard from across the hall. It was obvious the Deputy had appreciated his little performance.

Dean brought his hand to his mouth and licked the evidence of his work off his fingers. There wasn’t much he could do about the come on his chest but rub it in and hope that they gave him a shower in the morning.

Dean stepped from the shower and pulled the scratchy towel from the rack by the door.

“I’m very sorry Agent Smith.” Officer March exclaimed. “We don’t-”

“It’s perfectly fine, Shane. I told you that last night. I get that you only have _real_ criminals here.” Dean laughed as he ran the towel over his sopping hair. “I do appreciate you picking up some _actual_ toiletries for me. That’s mighty nice of you.”

“It’s the least I could do.” Officer March cleared his throat as he handed Dean a fresh pair of scrubs and socks. “So… the DA is coming today, huh?”

“Yeah. Big, bad Lawyer-Man says that I need to distract them. Tell them a _story_... What do you think I should do? Do you think they need to know about a few more kills? Or should I feed them a cock and bull story about my childhood?”

“Did you really do all that stuff that Sheriff McFarson says you said?” Shane raised an eyebrow at the Agent.

“What do you think? cause if I told you I did….” Dean chuckled as he pulled up his pants. “What would the fun in that be?”

Officer March held his hands up and shook them lightly, the classic _no harm_ gesture. “Man….”

“Naw... It’s cool. Is my lawyer here yet?” Dean smiled.

“I think he got here a half hour ago. Did you need to see him before you go to the interrogation room?”

Dean clapped the Officer on the shoulder. “That is a _great_ idea. Why don’t you take me back to my cell and bring him to me. Can I have an hour?”

“Technically, we have to give you however much time you need, but the Sheriff…”

“And the Sheriff is gonna find out pretty damn quick that ya’ll will get in a heap of trouble.” Dean scoffed. “Well… Not you _personally_ , Shane. You’ve been nothin’ but sweet to me.”

“Thanks.” The officer blushed. “I’ll go get your lawyer.”

Dean nodded as he stepped into his cell and sat on the cot as Officer March locked him up and headed down the hallway. He thought about what he would say to the District Attorney… How much he wanted to reveal. There were _so many_ then. Dean hadn’t been able to control himself while he was at Georgia Tech. It was difficult on the best of days and downright _impossible_ on the worst.

He heard the unmistakable clink of the door at the end of the hallway and two sets of footprints on the concrete floor. He smiled as his lawyer and the officer came into view. “Pretty Boy!”

“Dean.” His lawyer smiled. “Your _box_ treat you well? Did they feed you? Give you a shower?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Officer _sweet-eyes_ even got me some halfway decent toiletries. Felt like I was at the Holiday Inn…”

“Cut the crap.” His lawyer turned toward the escorting officer. “Shane, give us thirty?”

“Can do, boss.” Shane turned to head down the hallway.

“Hey…” Dean ran a hand down his lawyer’s arm. “How are you handling all this?”

“It’s a lot to process. I’ve done this so many times for the Bureau, but that didn’t prepare me-”

“I know.” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his still damp hair. “Any luck?”

“They have a fingerprint. Just one. No other evidence. We have to convince them that you had access to the victim’s car before the murder. One fingerprint-”

Dean smiled. “-does not a murder make. I know… So, I say that the vic and I were intimate? You think that would work?”

“It may. You were at the bar he was last seen at. And luckily at the _exact_ same time. Now, we might be able to find someone who would hold up on the witness stand that saw the two of you together. What I want to know is-”

“Nope.” Dean interrupted. “You get me out of here, and that’s the story you get. Until then… These lips are sealed, baby.”

“You are such a _pig_.” His lawyer laughed. “We’ve gotta meet up with the DA now. Think you can be civil and _not_ call the Sheriff by that terrible name?”

“Even if he _is_ a fat pig?”

His lawyer shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Shut yer yap. Shane is on his way down.”

The officer let the two Agents out and escorted them back down the hall to the interrogation room. Dean took in the additional people. Sheriff McFatso and Rusty were there… as well as the DA. He was a hard looking man. Dean guessed that he had been in office a long time. He looked sixty. Probably hadn’t seen much crime in his county. Though Dean couldn’t figure out why, Montana seemed like lovely dumping ground for bodies.

“Agent Smith?” the DA stood. “I’m Mark Denvers. Yellowstone County’s District Attorney. The local recused himself and I came down from Billings. And your lawyer?”

Dean’s lawyer stepped forward and extended a hand. “Samuel Wesson, _Special Agent_ Wesson… One of the few SJD’s in the Bureau. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Denvers.”

The DA shook Sam’s hand. “The pleasure, it seems, is all mine.”

Sam motioned for Dean to sit. He pulled out his seat and waited patiently for Dean to park himself and be shackled to the floor. Dean smiled sweetly at the DA.

“Now…” Sam cleared his throat. “My client _was_ at the scene of the crime. That can be confirmed. However, I do believe that witnesses will show that he left the bar with the victim, not under coercion, but under the pretence of _having a good time_ like two consenting adults.”

“Jack wasn’t gay-” Officer Carson stated from his spot by the camera.

“Jim…” The Sheriff started. “I suggest that you keep your opinions to yourself. I apologise for the outburst. We’re a small county, Agent Wesson. Nine thousand people. Most everyone knows everyone. Jim doesn’t understand that people can have lives other than the ones that they show to the world.”

“That is very progressive of you, Sheriff.” Sam smiled at Dean.

“I have a gay sister in California, Agent. I haven’t always lived in Glendive. Grew up in So Cal.”

“That _actually_ makes a lot of sense.” Dean grinned at the Sheriff. “I apologise for my previous behaviour, Sheriff McFarson.”

“Thank you, Agent Smith.” The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, his rotund abdomen straining in his uniform.

“So...” The DA started. “You are trying to tell me that Agent Smith and Jack Cummings were having sexual congress in Jack’s car… That the only evidence he left was one single fingerprint… and that later, _later_ someone came along and what? Cut out Jack’s tongue, hacked off his hands and slit his throat? Why? _Shits and giggles_? I find that hard to believe, Special Agent.”

“We don’t have to convince you, Mr Denvers… We just have to convince twelve people that _that very scenario_ is plausible. That’s all. And really? Do you want to _try_ and send my client up river on a trumped up charge?”

‘Ooh… He’s gonna out-lawyer you, John Denver.” Dean smirked from his spot at the table. “He’s-”

“Dean.” Sam deadpanned. “Just shut up. Right now. If you know what’s good for you.”

“Shutting up.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Let me ask you a question, Agent Wesson…” The DA leaned forward in his chair, his arms pushing the table. “Do you think a jury is going to listen to you? You’ve been Special Agent Smith’s partner for five years now. Doesn’t that make you a little too _invested_ in this case?”

“You will find out, Mr Denvers…” Sam raised an eyebrow. “You can’t intimidate me. Also, the FBI will inevitably appoint someone else Lead Attorney if this _farce_ of a charge goes to trial. But I promise you this… My client, partner- what _ever_ you want to call him… _Is_ innocent. This is a little hiccough in his day. He’ll be back to busting the bad guys your little _County_ can’t even find in no time.”

“We don’t have to-”

“Actually, Sheriff… He has a point. And is allowed to make it.” Denvers stated. “There’s also not much that I can do. Helena will decide how this goes down. I’m here to see if there’s a case.”

“That doesn’t mean-” The Sheriff’s face began turning beet red. Sam only glared pointedly at Dean who bowed his head even as he rolled his eyes.

“Dursley.” Was all that was muttered. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“The recusal of the County District Attorney shows that you are all willing to go by the book.” Sam said, eyes fixed on Denvers, smile slight but friendly. “Now, what have the arresting officers claimed my client has done?”

“According to the booking records, your client is being accused of murder. Precisely, the murder of one Jackson Hershel Cummings, 42, of Glendive.” The DA cleared his throat. “They have stated that Mr Cummings was found with his tongue removed, his hands severed, and his throat slit behind the wheel of his 2018 Honda Accord. The hands were not found at the scene of the crime. He-”

“Are you telling me that you did not get fingerprint identification? How do you know that the victim _is_ Jackson Cummings?” Sam questioned, shuffling the paperwork in front of him. “It’s also 100 degrees outside. Has been for the past two weeks solid, I know… been out there myself. I’ve seen what a hot, closed environment does to a body. Dental will take weeks. What’s proof of identity here?”

“The car is registered to Mr Cummings. He was reported missing two days before his car was found. Two and two.” Sheriff McFarson pipped up.

Dean opened his mouth. Wesson’s hand went up. Dean shut his mouth again, but the thought had transmitted itself already. They’d worked together long enough for Wesson to know how Smith’s mind worked on a case. “How long was he in the wind _before_ he was reported missing? And who reported him missing?”

“We know for fact that he was missing for at least 48 hours before a report was filed. He didn’t work on Fridays, so that last that anyone could _confirm_ his whereabouts was Thursday at 1800 hours when he left the gym. You say he was at a bar on Friday… But it wasn’t a bar around here. He was reported Monday morning at 1100 hours when he failed to show at work at oh eight hundred.” The DA grimaced. “The Dawson County Sheriff’s Department came across a white 2018 Honda Accord registered to the victim on Wednesday afternoon, 1600 hours.”

“So, the fact that the body was discovered in the vehicle is being used as proof of identity.” Sam pointed a finger at his partner without even bothering to look up, hushing him before he could speak. “No wallet or any other identification has been found?”

“Registration in the glovebox!” Jim piped up.

“In the car, so that makes it invalid. Good god, do they not teach these guys anything? Quantico would have kicked our asses.” Dean muttered, shackled hands jerking as he tried to lift them to rub his eyes.

“Dean, shut it.” Sam growled, “However, he is right. It’s in the car. It’s invalid. Because it would have already been there.”

“...”

“No.” Sam narrowed his eyes.

“But, the registration- I know that car! He bought it from my brother.” Jim hollered.

“You pinheaded moron. The registration never leaves the car for most of us. I don’t mess with the crap in the glove box unless an officer of the law asks for it at a traffic stop. If it was _already_ in the goddamn, _mother-fuckin’_ car, then it is not proof of identity. If the vehicle was stolen the registration would still be there!” Sam stood and slammed his palms flat on the table. He leaned forward into the Sheriff and DA’s faces. “One Hundred Fucking Degrees outside! Five fucking days! How in the ever-living _fuck_ could you have identified the body?”

“But- How- It’s…”

“Jim, if I were you… I’d leave the room.” Sheriff McFarson stated, his voice shaking. Sam could tell he was trying to stay calm. “Now.”

Sam sat down as Officer Carson stomped from the room. “So, Mr Denvers…. How common is mis-identification of a corpse? Not just around here, but on a National level?”

“I… see your point, Agent.” The DA fiddled with the stack of papers in front of him. Dean _knew_ Sam had him by the ropes.

“So… are we _really_ going to let this go to trial?” Sam smiled.

“Even if we don’t… I hear there is evidence that might just keep your client in jail.” Denvers smirked.

“And… if that’s the case, we’ll just have to see how that plays out.” Sam stood. “I think this meeting is over. If my client is going to be held on new charges, you have 48 hours. I suggest you use it well.”

“I do believe my time here is done. If you could escort the prisoner back to his holding cell-” The DA stood.

“Not so fast… He was tellin’ us a story yesterday. I never got to hear the middle or the end. I wanna hear the rest of this.” Sheriff McFarson grinned.

“Well, then let him tell his story. I will return when we have a positive ID. Two weeks. We should have a positive identification in two weeks.” Denvers smiled curtly, shook Sam’s hand, and stepped through the door.

“Lunch?” Dean smiled, all teeth and eyes. “I am _so_ hungry….”

“Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Do you _always_ think about food?”

“Sammy….” Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You should know me better than that…”

“Bottomless pit. Right.” Sam shook his head. He then folded himself down into his chair and waited.

“Can I get some wings? A big coke, a side of season fries and some Cajun shrimp? From that place on Sunshine Drive.” Dean chuckled. “I’d also like some of that _pie_ I didn’t get yesterday…”

“You heard him… Get the man some food.” Sam sighed. “In the meantime?”

“I can let you in on a little secret….” Dean whispered.

“Bill… Would you like to start the recording?” McFarson commanded.

“Of course, Boss.” _Liam_ stepped toward the camera and flipped the record switch. They both ignored the required ramble that established date and time and who was all present. And the fact he was speaking against the _suggestion_ of his council.

“Let me tell you a story about the three little pigs.” Dean sighed. “There once was a little brother pig. He didn’t have a lot of money, but he had friends that did. He liked to hang out with his richer and more popular friends. They accepted him- of course. The middle brother- that’s me… Well, he was rich and fancy. He had the best things in life even though he was the middle pig. But the older pig…. Well, he wasn’t with them that day… and not very important to the story.

“So, the little pig and the middle pig, they went to the mall. The middle pig wanted a new necklace. They walked into the jewellery store, the little pig standing behind the middle pig the entire time. The woman at the jewellery store didn’t believe that _either_ of them should be there and kicked them out.

“The middle pig didn’t like that very much, so he did a little recon. He was sixteen at the time and got offended pretty easy. He followed Miss Penni to the fair and beat her to death behind the Ferris wheel.” Dean slammed his fists onto the metal table. Everyone in the room either flinched or jumped as Dean chuckled. “The end.”

“What?” _Liam_ grimaced, his facial expression tight giving away his disgust.

“I said it was a story.” Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Wanna hear another?”

“I don’t know…. Should we?” McFarson grimaced.

“I don’t-”

“Officer Rusty…” Dean huffed. “I think you should take your-”

“Dean!” Sam yelled at his partner as Officer Carson stepped back into the room. “Maybe you should tell another of your _riveting_ stories. Your food is coming…”

“There once was a man from Nantucket-” Dean snickered. “He said… _fuck it_. Does it matter? There was this guy… He was foreign… A real jerk. Met him down on River Street in Savannah.”

“Foreign? How?” _Rusty_ asked, leaning forward off the wall.

“Exchange? He was a student. A jerk… Hit on me. I didn’t appreciate it. He was drunk and willing… I wasn’t. Doesn’t take much pressure to break a hyoid bone.”

“But like… aren’t you … what’s the word… queer?” Dean blinked briefly, he’d been expecting a derogatory term out of the man’s mouth. Huh, apparently Podunkville _did_ do sensitivity training and bits of it stuck.

“I am gay, but I have a question for you Rusty…” Dean scoffed. “Do you _fuck_ every two-bit woman who hits on you? Why should I?”

“No… Should I?”

“Depends on your taste in women, I guess. Me? I’m fuckin’ picky when it comes to type.” Dean smiled. “You married?”

“I don’t think that I should be answering that question.” Rusty’s lips curled, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Dean pursed his lips and scrunched his nose. “Another story… Let’s see. Ah! I have a good one.”

Sam rolled his eyes and folded his hands, the fingers interlacing. “Whatever you have… I am _positive_ that you should be warned against speaking. _Obviously_.”

Dean smirked. “I get that… but you _really_ wanna hear this one.

“Christmas Eve, 1996. My parents were at some _friends_ house. You know… the kind you are either sucking up to or fucking on the side. Those kind of friends. They had a daughter. She was pretty. _Rain Perkins_. She was older, funny... a sweet little blonde girl. She worked at the coffee shop a few blocks down from the Coke Building. I had seen her a time or two while I was getting a latte. She remembered me- by my drink of course.”

“Latte... Extra shot, extra hot… no foam?” Rain smiled as she shook her head.

“You’ve got me there.” Dean threw his hands up in the air and smiled. “Dean Smith. So… what brings you to a shindig like this one?”

“Ah… Now we’re even. You know my name.” Rain sat down on the fluffy couch in the family room. “What brought me here? Well… that would be my parents.”

“Made to suffer through this _horrible_ travesty of a party? Least you can skip out later…”

“Nope.” Rain shook her head and patted the couch cushion next to her. “Parents are the ones throwing the party…. Unfortunately.”

“Ouch.” Dean flopped onto the pale pink couch and wrapped an arm around the barista. “That has _gotta_ suck.”

“Well… it did.” Rain smiled and leaned toward Dean. “Until the present company showed up.”

“Aww. You’re too cute.” Dean leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on the girl’s lips. “Wanna have some fun?”

“If you mean fun like getting naked?” Rain leaned forward on the couch as her swift fingers began deftly unbuttoning the red silk blouse she was wearing.

Dean stilled her hand, his fingers softly caressing her wrists. “That’s not the kind of fun I had in mind…”

“I don’t-”

“Shh.” Dean placed a single finger over her petal soft pink lips. “I want you to stay dressed for this. Then… I can slowly…. gently…. strip you bare.”

Rain’s breath hitched. Her mouth opened slightly and Dean took advantage by leaning in for a kiss. He wasn’t fond of kissing girls, but when he needed…

“Dean…” Rain moaned.

“I’m gonna rock your world.” Dean whispered as Rain continued to move her lips against his. He pulled back slightly, shushing as he sat up and dug in his left pocket for a small cellophane packet.

Dean rubbed and crushed the material together, mixing the fine powder. He leaned back and thrusted his hips forward in an attempt to bring attention to his crotch. He deftly flicked open his belt and yanked the zipper down on his favourite jeans. He would have only one shot at this.

“You ever give head before?” Dean asked as he pulled his half hard cock from the slit in his boxer briefs. His free hand rubbed up and down the shaft a few times twisting at the end. The cellophane crinkled in his hand as he sprinkled the shaft and head of his cock with powder.

Rain nodded and smiled. “A time or two. Looks like you’ve gotta real treat for me.”

“You know what they say… _Where there's Coke there's hospitality_.” Dean grinned as he dropped the packet on the couch and wrapped his fingers in Rain’s long blonde hair, pushing her toward his waiting skin. “Now remember, snort- then lick. Gotta get it all up like a _good girl_ , yeah?”

Dean closed his eyes at the moan, not wanting to ruin the imagery in his head. He gasped at the sensation of powder leaving his skin and bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out as the head of his cock was encompassed by warm, wet pressure. “Oh... yeah… right there.”

Dean needed to wait just a little-

“Fuck!” Rain moaned. “What the _fuck_ did you give me? This _isn’t_ coke…”

Dean smirked, even though it was lost on the girl. “Naw, sweetie… It’s my own _special_ speedball. Thought you might like it.”

“It’s- I can’t-” Rain did her best to sit up. Her coordination and cognition already _severely_ impaired by the combo of heroin and cocaine.

“Shh…” Dean pulled the girl off his lap. He _really_ didn’t want vomit on himself. Not if he was going to pull this off right. He maneuvered Rain down onto the couch and crouched by her side. “It’s okay… You should feel peace and bliss in your final moments.”

“I don’t wanna-”

“No one _wants_ to die…” Dean smoothed her hair down around her face. “But we all do. Now, it’s _your_ time.”

Dean stood up and smiled as he walked toward the doorway. Rain’s lips were already beginning to take on a bluish tint and bits of spittle were forming at the corners. He chuckled and tucked himself in, redoing his belt and humming “I Believe I Can Fly” lightly under his breath.

Rain’s body convulsed, her chest heaving as she struggled to take a breath. Dean huffed, glanced at his watch and tapped his foot to an unheard melody. “Come _on_ , Rain… I don’t have all night.”

The clock on the mantle chimed midnight. It was officially Christmas Day. Dean chuckled at the irony of the situation as Rain’s body lifted off the fabric of the couch one last time and settled into silence. He waited another two minutes before slamming the door he was leaning across and running toward the couch, Rain’s name in a shout on his lips.

“Rain! Rain!” Dean yelled, making sure he was causing a _huge_ commotion. He shook her lifeless body as footsteps pounded down the stairs and a myriad of people rushed the room, Rain’s parents leading the way. “Come _on_!”

“Dean!” Rain’s father, Harold pushed the younger boy aside and placed two fingers against his daughter’s neck. “Give me some room.”

Dean leaned back on his haunches. He pretended to spy a bit of plastic sticking out from under her thigh. He stifled a chuckle. This was _perfect_. “Mr Perkins.”

“What, Dean?” The older man cried as he motioned for his wife to call 911.

Dean leaned around the gentleman and pulled the cellophane out from under her leg. White powder drifted down across his hand. “I found this.” Dean made sure to rub his fingers around on the outside. The police would never suspect that he had planted the packet.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dean’s mother gasped as she pulled her son to his feet.

“What?” Dean questioned. He schooled his face into gentle naivety.

“Cocaine.” Dean’s mother turned toward Harold. “You have a _coke_ head living in your house? And I let my son around her?”

“Now, now… Melissa.” Dean’s father Kyle piped up. “I don’t think _now_ is the time.”

“My daughter may be _dead_!” Harold shrieked. “Your son was the last-”

“That’s it. Kyle… We are _leaving_.” Melissa grabbed Dean by the arm and started to pull him toward the door. He dropped the plastic onto the floor and followed his mother up the stairs, his father close behind.

Dean smiled as the room was plunged into silence. “What? You can’t tell me you’ve never wondered how much you’d have to give someone… I admit, I would have liked to shoot her up, but it is _way_ harder to plant needle evidence on someone.

“Dean…” Sam sighed. “You can’t just-”

“Do you know how _insanely_ popular R. Kelly was back then? I mean… _before_ we found out he was a child molester?”

“You’re no bet-”

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Sheriff.” Dean leaned forward as close as he could to the rotund man and grinned, all teeth and fury. “I never, _ever_ played with my food. Not once!”

“Dean.” Sam pulled his partner back into his chair. “Just stop. It’s not worth it.”

“I will harassment suit his _ass_ all the way from here to Mars. I’m for real, Sammy… I’ll do it.” Dean flopped back into his chair, slightly resigned.

Sam chuckled. “And I have no doubt that you will.”

“Sheriff, please refrain from mocking the-”

“Why you little-” McFarson leaned toward Dean and raised a hand to pull at his hospital standard shirt.

“Sheriff.” Sam sighed and ran a hand through his non-regulation hair. “Please refrain from mocking my client. And Dean? Please refrain from mocking the Sheriff.”

“Whatever, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” Sam deadpanned. “Just… stop, okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “I can do that.”

There was a knock on the door and Sam stood. A fairly young woman peered around the door and smiled. “I have food?’

“Is that a question?” Dean huffed. “Do you not _know_ if you have food?”

The woman cleared her throat and stood taller. “I have food. Multiple bags. Someone needs to come and get them. I was told I am not allowed in the interrogation room.”

“You can come in at any time, baby.” Dean leered.

“Oh my fucking _God_!” Rusty rolled his eyes. “You are fucking _gay_ and that’s my _sister_!”

“Really?” Dean chuckled and shook his head. “That’s six ways to fuc-”

“Dean.” Sam cleared his throat. “Jim. Please ignore my client. He is _obviously_ mentally disturbed.”

“No problem, Agent Wesson. It is a pleasure working with you. Very polite.”

“Quit being a _kiss ass_.” Dean scoffed and curled his lip. “It’s so condescending. But, she is pretty, even I can recognize that fact.”

Dean licked his lips and rubbed his hands together as Officer _Liam_ brought in his food. He waited patiently as Sam pulled a few containers from the bag closest to him, setting them in front of Dean.

“Aww… Sweetie? Do you want to _feed_ me too?” Dean smirked and raised his eyebrows. “I kinda miss that…”

Sam narrowed his eyes and continued to pull items from the sacks. He lifted the lid on Dean’s spicy wings and unfolded two napkins. One, he tucked in Dean’s shirt and the second, he laid across Dean’s lap.

“Don’t bad touch me…” Dean whispered, then a little louder, with a deadpan delivery. “Please Sam, not in front of the cops.”

“Shut _up_.” Sam hissed.

Dean grinned when his comment got a muffled snicker out of Liam. He nodded and waited for Sam to step out of his way so he could get to the wings.

“Dude. Move.” Dean nudged Sam with his elbow and finger walked his hot wings closer. He pulled one from the plastic container and popped it into his mouth.

“Um…. Those have _bones_.” Rusty smirked from across the room. “Would be a total shame if you-”

Dean silenced the crowd as his tongue moved deftly in his mouth. He spit the cleaned bones onto the lid and bobbed his head, beating out a _bump hiss_ to the tune of a bad porno. “You were saying?”

“Really?” Sam scoffed. “That’s your parlour trick? I’ve seen better.”

“Well… Since you don’t have any cherry stems… It’s kinda hard to prove I can debone a chicken wing _and_ knot a cherry stem at the same time.” Dean grinned.

“Fuck my Life.” Sam groaned. “Can we just say _fuck it_ and keep him locked up here forever? I don’t know if I want him back as my partner.”

Dean fake gasped and did his best to clench his chest. “Sammy! You wound me.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Eat yer fuckin’ food, ya fuckin’ swine.”

“That’s my boy!” Dean hollered as he popped two legs into his mouth.

“God, can you get anymore disgusting?” Rusty muttered, grimacing and turning away. Dean started to open his mouth when Sam made a sharp noise. Dean blinked and ducked his head, clearly recognizing when he’d reached a particular line. The bones dropped neatly onto the lid and Dean dug into the shrimp with a grin.

He bit into one of the lovely “jumbo” spicy shrimp and then grimaced as he swallowed. “Forgot, this shit is always a few days on a truck. Does something to the fuckin’ taste, gentlemen. You ever get near a coast? Order real seafood. I mean, this is _all right_ but the real deal? So much better.”

“Dean… I promise that you will get some real seafood soon, okay? You don’t have to eat that tripe if you don’t wanna.” Sam grinned.

Dean waved off the offer and smiled. McFarson leaned forward. “Agent Smith is right, boys. Fresh seafood _is_ better. Anything trucked in loses something when it’s frozen. Don’t really know _what_ it is that’s lost, but if you’ve eaten the real deal? It’s probably twice as good as what we can get in the middle of the country here. Goes for live lobster and crab too.”

“Yup. I’m not gonna eat this. Ya’ll can have at it. I mean, it’s not Montana’s fault ya’lls in the middle of the country, the diner does good with what it gets, wings were excellent.”

Dean finished his season fries and held out an expectant hand. “Wet nap me.”

Sam rolled his eyes and flicked a moist towelette at Dean. Dean’s hands snapped down to catch it before it could fly off the table and he pinned his partner with a glare. “Smart ass.”

“You lo-” Sam snapped his mouth shut. Dean chuckled as his pie was set down in front of him, the plastic spoon thrust into his waiting hand.

“Yeah, yeah, pathetic loser. Whatever. Now this? Y’all have a hellva pastry chef down there. They are brilliant with pie. Crust is perfectly flaky and just sweet enough, butter brushed over the top mixed with powdered sugar for that little extra sweet touch.” Dean then jabbed his spoon directly into the centre of the piece and grinned as strawberry-rhubarb filling bubbled out around the hole he had made. He brought the bite to his lips and smiled. “Look at this… It totally makes up for the fact that I asked for apple.”

After savouring the taste for a few seconds he looked over at the Sheriff and grinned. “You know… this reminds me of a story… wanna hear it?”

“If it’s another of your _love ‘em and leave ‘em_ stories….” McFarson grimaced. “I don’t know how much more my stomach can stand.”

“Antacids might help with that. Just sayin’. Or lay off the coffee. No Sheriff’s office or other cop shop has _ever_ had good coffee. Black Georgia road tar most the time. Hey, Wesson, wasn’t it up at Geauga Lake that they swore by ginger ale for an upset stomach?”

“Sure… _Smith_.” Sam chided. “I think that was most of Ohio though.”

“Well, whichever.” Dean scoffed, his dismissive attitude obvious. “Really… If _fatso_ just lost some weight, that would take care of the whole shebang!”

“Dean!” Sam only held up a hand to keep the Sheriff in his seat and huffed a sigh.

“Sam!” Dean mocked. “Now, do you want to hear my epic story or not?”

“I should say _not_. Unfortunately, I apparently have a problem with telling you _no_.”

“Good. So sit down…” Dean said to Sam, not caring that he was already seated, “shut your cakehole, and listen to my tale. Not my _tail_ like _An American Tail_ , like Fievel… but _tale_ like… You know what? Never mind. Listen to my _mother fuckin’_ story.

“I was pretty good back then. I really only killed once or twice a year. It was easier to keep the urges down when I was worried about getting caught. There was the Guidance Counsellor at Jack’s school right after we graduated- he was molesting girls… Then there was that chick… What was her name? Ah- Maria. I really didn’t mean to kill her… Well, not like the way she died. But, how was I supposed to know at nineteen that you don’t mix cocaine and ketamine together? I thought that I could speedball her, but I couldn’t get any heroin. It _was_ the great heroin shortage of ‘98, you know…

Dean slammed the trunk of his car and sighed. That last kill had taken a lot out of him. He should have known better than to mix ketamine and cocaine together. The result was brutal. His victim had thrashed and fought him too much. It took too long. He sighed and ran a ran through his still chin length hair. Maybe it was time for a haircut.

“Hey, good lookin’...”

Dean turned around at the _obvious_ male voice calling to him from the next car over. “Hey to you.” Dean thought the guy looked familiar. Like they had a class or two together at Tech.

He watched on as the guy made his way toward him around the back end of his Mercedes. Dean could give him some credit. It wasn’t a Beemer like the ‘98 Z3 Convertible he had… But the sl500 Convertible this guy drove was still nice. It was a year older… and _red_ , but Dean could get over that. After all, plenty of rich kids went to school at Tech. And, plenty of them were gay- or willing to try it at least once. This guy was bold. Dean would give him that.

“James Rogers. My friends call my Jimmy.” The taller man stuck out his tanned hand. Dean extended his to meet the other. He was gorgeous. Everything that Dean had ever wanted in a boyfriend. At least in looks. His honey blond hair was streaked through with white highlights. Dean could tell that his tan was sun-kissed and didn’t come from a bed and UV lights. He was dressed to the nines in early Georgian fall clothes- a tight tee that hugged all of his muscles. He wasn’t stacked- Dean never really liked that, but the lean muscles were definitely on display. A pair of jeans that were worn in all the right places. He had to have paid a fortune for the worn-wear look. Dean knew… He had a few pairs himself.

“Dean Smith. But you can call me baby.” Dean smirked.

“Well, _Dean_...” Jimmy smiled as he pulled Dean closer. “Will you give me the chance?”

Dean laughed and pushed the other man back. “I’m not that easy. We’re in MSE 2001 together, right?”

“Yeah. You normally sit with Becca Thompson, right?”

“I do. She was my Chem lab partner last year. She’s wicked smart. _And_ being the only chick in our entire year in the Mech Engineering Program? Gives that girl balls, man. _Balls_.”

“She’s gonna make one hell of an Engineer someday.” Jimmy smiled and dug in his messenger bag for something. Dean raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a pen and small notebook. He wrote what Dean assumed to be his number and tore out the page. “Here.”

“Your number?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Little presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“Maybe… And if you don’t call me, I’ll still see you in class on Monday. If you do....” Jimmy smirked. “It might just be your lucky night.”

Dean counted that night among one of the better decisions that he had ever made. Nine months later and Dean was enjoying his time with Jimmy. They were practically inseparable.

“Dean… Right there.” Jimmy moaned.

Dean thrust faster into his boyfriend. Sweat poured down his back as he tensed muscles only used when he was working out. The pressure around him was _glorious_... He could never get enough of the vulnerability of the older man. Heat pooled in his lower belly, the pending orgasm Dean tried his hardest _not_ to have at that moment.

They were at Jimmy’s. Dean still lived with his parents, they wouldn’t let him get his own apartment until the start of fall semester in a few months. Jimmy lived on his own... Dean had considered moving in, but something was keeping him from it. Dean grunted and pushed into his boyfriend slightly, making sure to brush Jimmy’s prostate.

Jimmy cried out as his hole contracted around Dean. He loved it when Jimmy came untouched. Dean moaned as the spasms pulled his orgasm from him. Wave after wave of bliss had Dean’s eyes rolling in the back of his head. He collapsed in a heap on top of Jimmy’s panting, sweaty body.

“Baby... That was-”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, I-”

A key jangled in the door. Dean stilled as the front door opened and a pair of shoes fell to the floor with a thunk.

“James, love?” A voice called out from the front room. A decidingly _male_ voice. “Sweetheart? I brought food!”

“What in the _fuck_?” Dean hissed as he pulled off his _supposed_ boyfriend. “Do I need to worry about shit? You fucking around on me?”

Jimmy pushed Dean over and sat up. He could hear _whoever_ it was in the kitchen rooting in the cupboards for what sounded like plates and glasses.

“It’s more complicated than that-”

“No. Fuck you.” Dean stood from the rumpled bed and yanked his clothes from the floor. He shook the wrinkles out from his pink button down and slid his arms in one at a time. Dean huffed as he pulled his tiny briefs and jeans up. “You are a bastard. I don’t want to hear your excuses… I don’t want to hear about how you love me…”

Dean looked down on Jimmy laying in his bed, the blankets pooled around his slim waist. “He has a key… We’ve supposedly been dating for nine months. _Nine fucking months_ \- and I don’t have a key. How long have you been hiding this from me, Jimmy? How long were you gonna _keep_ hiding this from me?”

Dean held his hand up. He didn’t want to hear Jimmy’s excuses. “Fuck you.”

Dean stepped from the room into the hallway. “James? Were you taking a nap?”

“Not James. And no, we weren’t taking a nap.” Dean smiled as he walked into the kitchen. “Looks like a great spread you got there…”

“Randal.” The older man held out a hand. He was good-looking, Dean could give him that. But if he was a day under forty…

“Dean. Smith.” He didn’t move to shake the other man’s hand. Dean chuckled as Randal put his hand down and wiped it on his pressed trousers.

“You must be the boyfriend James talks about all the time.” Randal smiled.

“And you are?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, well we’re fucking… If that’s what you meant. I take care of James. His parents don’t _provide_ enough for him. But I do. I give him what he needs, and in return… Well, I get what _I_ need.” Randal pulled the cork from a bottle of wine and patiently poured two glasses. He offered one to Dean.

“No thank you.” Dean waved his hand and cleared his throat. “I should be going. You two have a good evening.” 

Dean smiled as Randal nodded and said goodbye. He walked calmly to the door and fled into the night.

Dean swallowed and pursed his lips. “James Rogers, twenty. Died of asphyxiation. Police deemed it a home invasion robbery gone bad. No arrests were ever made in connection with the crime.”

Dean leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of coke next to Sam’s arm. He twisted the top breaking the seal and began to drink. And drink. Until the bottle was empty. He drained the last few drops and set the plastic bottle gingerly on the table. The cap he sent flying across the room. Rusty flinched.

“Dean?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean squinted and shook his head minutely. “So… There was this girl. Her name was Samantha. She was a bartender at this little hole in the wall on Peach Street. It was the summer after I turned twenty-one. I was bored. It was hot outside. I’m not talking dry Montana heat either. I’m talking hot…. _muggy_... nastiness. Air thick enough to _chew_. There was only one thing to do in a situation like this… _Drink_. So, that’s what I did. I drank. At Skinnys.”

“Skinnys?” Rusty snorted. “What the _fuck_ kinda name is that for a bar?”

“Dude… It was Georgia in 2000.” Dean scoffed and shook his head. “What the _fuck_ kinda bar do you _think_ it was?”

“Dean.” Sam deadpanned. “If you’re gonna tell a story-”

“I’ll tell it my way, Pretty Boy… Or not at all.” Dean rattled his chains as if to prove a point.

Samantha was one of those girls that just screamed _fuck my life_. She was tall… A pretty peach of a thing. Dean knew that she would be up for a fun time. He could use that to his advantage. This past year at school had been hard on him. Without Jimmy around-

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. The whole situation was fucked six ways to Sunday.

“Want another?” Samantha smiled as she shook his empty in front of him. He gave her a brief smile and considered it, eyeing the bottle she held in her slim hand. He licked his lips and leaned forward on the stool, lightly resting his fingers against the tacky, fingerprint smudged faux chrome rail.

“Not really, darling. I’m more interested in something higher class.”

“What makes you think that it’s for sale?” Samantha raised an eyebrow and tossed the empty bottle behind her back. It landed in the glass bin with a clatter and a crash. An absolute dead ringer. Dean could tell this wasn’t her first rodeo. It’s a good thing too… It wasn’t his either.

“Everything is for sale, doll. You just have to have enough money.” Dean smirked.

She laughed once, a bright noise. “Or no morals?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe just enough to make the price fair?” He leaned back and laid an arm on the rail, other hand dropping out of sight to sit on his thigh.

“In that case…” She smiled and plopped a double shot of _something_ , neat in front of him.

Dean shot his best grin and picked up the glass. He raised an eyebrow and took a whiff as the tumbler touched his lips. _Fuck_. He _hated_ Crown. It smelled like turpentine and tasted like it had spent a week in a locker at an all-boys middle school. Dean did his best to school his features and _not_ grimace as he swallowed the foul liquid in as few gulps as humanly possible.

“Thanks?” Dean smiled. He’d had better from a two buck mystery brown bag down at the Chuck before. His grin was fake as all get out and there was _no way_ she would believe it. But there was one thing Dean had figured out in his short life… It was how to sell something. No matter how bad the situation was.

“You’re welcome. And you didn’t have to drink it.” Samantha laughed as she slid a Heineken in front of Dean. “On the house. Sorry to put you through that shit. Just had to check…”

“Check what?” Dean chuckled and shook his head.

“To see if you were human…”

Dean raised his arms wide and smirked. “Well… You found me out. I guess my secret identity has been revealed. You, my lovely lady have discovered _Beer Man_... The defender of youthful transgressions. Keeping the masses from having to drink horrid swill.” Dean lowered his arms and grabbed the Heineken from the sticky counter. He downed the beer in three gulps.

“Slow your roll, man. You’ve got nothing to prove to me.” Samantha held out her hand. “Samantha Vanmete… Bartender of this fine joint. And you are?”

Dean took Samantha’s hand and shook it lightly. “Dean Smith. College student by day, Superhero by night.”

“That one hurt, you know…” Dean smiled at the camera. “Not the way that you are thinking. I was bored. I had a bunch of liquor in me. I don’t feel remorse for what I did. It hurt, because she actually bit me. The fucking _bitch_ actually _bit_ me. Do you have any clue how many things you can get from a human bite? Ugh.”

Dean wiggled his fingers aggressively at Sam. He coughed and wiggled harder. Dean rolled his eyes as Sam _finally_ caught his meaning and handed him another Coke. This time _without_ a cap.

“Last time I checked? A bunch.” Sam sighed. “She _actually_ bit you?”

Dean took a swallow of his Coke. “She did. Thankfully, it was only on my calf. Not much of a scar. Couldn’t get into the meat of it, you know.”

“That’s-”

Dean glanced up from his pity party of one and stared at Officer Rusty. “That’s _what_? Fucked up? Yeah, it is. Did she deserve the weighted bat to the face for it? _Fuck yes_. She deserved every little thing I gave her. All of it. Every hit, every broken bone… _Everything_.”

“I think that we need to be done for today.” The Sheriff piped up from his spot across the table. 

Sam smiled and nodded. “I agree. This day has taken a lot out of everyone. Can I persuade you to bring my client supper in his cell? For the two of us? I think meat pizza, a half-gallon of two percent and some plates and cups would be appreciated.”

“Can do, Agent Wesson. We’ll have it to you in about an hour or so?” Sheriff McFarson nodded.

Sam held his hand out, palm up for the key to Dean’s shackles. He wasn’t surprised that they afforded him this luxury. He was sure that the only reason that it was done was that they trusted Sam to keep him in check. Sam unlocked his hands from the table first. He then crouched down by Dean’s legs to undo the shackles from the floor.

Dean bit back a moan as Sam’s hot breath hit his thigh. The hospital scrubs they had him in were wash-worn and thin. It was almost like he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He smiled as Sam’s hand brushed his calf and the inside of his knee as he checked for circulation in Dean’s legs.

“Ready for inmate transport, Sheriff…” Officer Marsh announced to the inside of the room.

Dean heard Rusty state the completion of the recording for the day and his reply to Marsh that the prisoner was ready. Dean stood from his place at the table and nodded to the ashtray on the other side.

“Yes, Dean. We’ll make sure you can have a smoke or two when we get down to your cell.” Sam pressed his hand against Dean’s back and motioned him toward the door.

“Good. Cause I’m gonna need it.” Dean smirked. He rolled his eyes and followed the Officer down the hall.

Officer Marsh let both Sam and Dean into Dean’s cell, unshackled him and locked them both in the cell. “I’ll alert you to when the pizza’s here. Give you a minute to stop your talking, then Bill will be down with your supper, yes?”

“That will work, Shane.” Sam smiled and motioned for Dean to sit. He waited a few beats for Officer Marsh to lock the door at the end of the hallway and turned toward his partner.

“What?” Dean frowned as he flopped on his cot.

“Don’t what me…” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I wanna know what happened with James Rogers.”

“What?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “What the _fuck_ do you want me to tell you?

“The truth?” Sam motioned to the room in a circle. “Maybe… Just for once you don’t hold anything back from me.”

Dean stood. He pushed toward Sam. “What? You want the truth? You want to know what happened? How I broke into Jimmy’s apartment… Threw his stuff around… Found a Publix bag in his kitchen from his night with _Randal_ and suffocated the _ever living shit_ out of him? That what you want to hear?”

Sam stepped back and stumbled slightly on thin air. “I- I-”

“Cause that’s _exactly_ what happened Sam! I walked into his house and fucked his entire life. Purposefully and Premeditatedly. He used me and I couldn’t handle it.” Dean gasped, pursing his lips as stalked back and forth across the small space. His hands repetitively opening and closing hard enough to pop his veins. “I laughed as I watched him gasp and sputter to take a breath through the plastic. I twisted the bag tighter and tighter until the very fibres began to pull apart. And then do you know what I did? I twisted it further.”

Sam rubbed a hand across his face and sniffled. “Did- Do you?”

“Sam.” Dean sighed. “I have never… Baby… I’d never-”

Sam hunched over and nodded.

“Sammy…” Dean whispered. “I promise, sweetie. I love you.”

“Dean.” Sam rushed Dean and wrapped him in his long arms. Dean sighed as Sam’s scent enveloped him. He missed it. “I just- I-”

“Shh… baby. It’s okay.” Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s chin length chestnut locks. “I’d never hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I just want to protect you. Put you in a cocoon and keep you safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Dean…” Sam nuzzled his face into Dean’s neck. “I can’t- This is- I _gotta_ get you out of here.”

“I’m not arguing with that. I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Only told you… Can’t go back now. And they won’t believe me if I told’em that I stopped all of a sudden, you know?” Dean pushed Sam out lightly to look into his eyes. “No one comes as close as you. No one, Sammy. I need you to understand that. You’re the Mallory to my Mickey.”

“Why do I always have to be the girl?” Sam smiled. “Love you too, Dean.”

A loud rapping noise rang through the empty space. Dean straightened in his bunk and Sam moved to stand. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the tile and concrete structure.

“Gentlemen?” Shane hollered as they moved closer. “Brought you a chair, Sam. Bill’s got your food.”

Sam moved out of the way of the two officers and stayed between Dean and the door as food and drink were brought in and the black padded folding chair set up. Dean watched on as Shane laid a folded sheet on the floor and set their goods down.

“Sorry that we can’t bring a table, but I did get Dean his ashtray.” Shane pulled the clear plastic ashtray from the cloth bag he had set on the floor. “Sam, you have his smokes and lighter?”

“I do. I appreciate all that you are doing, Gentlemen. I know that all of this isn’t protocol-”

“It’s okay, Sam. There isn’t much for protocol around here. We hardly have anyone in jail, it’s mostly the diner that makes meals if we do have a prisoner.” Shane smiled as he stepped from the cell, Bill quiet behind him.

“We will make sure the county is reimbursed for their expenses in housing Dean. Just send the bill to Quantico. I will make sure that it is taken care of.” Sam smiled and chucked the Reds from his pocket at his partner.

“Thank you, Sam.” Shane locked the cell door behind him. “I’ll check on your guys in an hour. That work for you?”

“Works for me. Thanks again, Shane.” Sam turned to Dean and passed him the zippo from his jacket. “Dean… Smoke ‘em while you got ‘em. You know they are breaking a shit-ton of rules letting you smoke.”

“Ah… But you see, this is _Small Town America_. You’re the Government. They are gonna let you walk in here and dictate lots of stuff, Sam.” Dean flicked the wheel of his lighter and took a deep drag of his cigarette. “Ah… That hits the spot.”

Sam waved a hand in front of his face, dispelling the smoke. “I wish you would quit.”

“I wish you’d blow me… But you won’t.” Dean smirked as Sam almost spilt the milk he was pouring for the two of them.

“Maybe if you’re a _good boy_...” Sam smiled. “But you gotta give me something in return.”

Sam handed Dean his pizza as he snuffed the finished cigarette in the plastic ashtray. “I can be a good boy. I’ve done it before… For you.”

Sam leaned forward into Dean’s personal space. “Maybe it should start now?”

Dean leaned to meet Sam in the middle, placing a chaste kiss on Sam’s lips. “It would be thrilling… Sex in a cell. Never thought it would be possible.”

“Eat then.” Sam laughed as he moved back into his own personal bubble. “Eat and brush your teeth, then we’ll talk.”

Dean nodded and began to methodically eat his pizza. He tried to make small talk about his arrest with Sam, but he kept putting him off with a wave of his hand. Dean put his paper plate on the tile and finished off the last of his milk. He lit another cigarette and sighed as he leaned back against his cot.

“Dean…” Sam smiled as he packed all of the garbage away in the cloth bags the Officers had provided.

Dean rubbed his butt in the ashtray and stood, stretching his back and legs before hopping up and down a few times. He moved toward the small sink and twisted the knob to run the tepid water into the basin so that he could wash his face and brush his teeth. It he played this right, he would be getting laid that night.

Dean set his toothbrush in the small alcove next to the sink. He splashed a few handfuls of water on his face and smiled as Sam passes him a towel from the ledge by the toilet.

“Thanks.” Dean scrubbed the day from his skin and sighed. “It’s just- I was fucking _stupid_ , Sam.”

“Well… You weren’t thinking. That’s for sure.” Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed the back of his neck. Sam scrunched his nose against the tiny hairs on Dean’s nape.

“Don’t you _dare_ sneeze on me, dude.” Dean chided. He turned around in Sam’s arms and brought his hands up, running them through his partner’s hair. “Sammy… Baby… I _miss_ you.”

Sam grabbed Dean by the face, his huge hands cradling whisker-rough skin. Dean sighed as his partner’s lips caressed his cheeks and jaw. “Com’on, Sammy…”

“Shut up,” Sam growled as he bit and nipped at Dean’s chapped lips.

The kiss was far from chaste. Dean fought to take control, failing each time. Sam pressed Dean against the wall, his large frame bracketing the other man’s. Dean pushed back, slotting his leg between Sam’s powerful thighs. He tangled is hands further and pulled, smiling as a moan of pleasure left Sam’s lips.

“Fuck… Sammy… Need- Want…” Dean hissed as his cock rubbed through the thin fabric of his scrub bottoms. He nudged Sam off himself, pushing the younger man toward the cot in the corner of the room. “Dude, wanna-”

“Jacket pocket,” Sam whispered, his voice low and growly.

“Always a boy scout.” Dean chuckled as his snaked a hand in the inside pocket of Sam’s suit jacket. He freed the tube of lube and unceremoniously shoved the black garment onto the cold cement floor.

Sam rolled his eyes and deftly slipped his belt from the buckle and unbuttoned his dress trousers. The wool garment pooled at his feet as he flopped onto the bed.

“Shoes, bitch.” Dean groused as he yanked the loafers from his partner, chucking them across the room. He winced as they hit the wall, ringing through the narrow, somewhat empty space.

“You like it, jerk. Always at my beck and call.” Sam fingered the buttons on his dress shirt.

“No time,” Dean huffed as he dropped the mattress. The snick of the tube opening stopped Sam dead. “Don’t. Now is _not_ the time, Sam. I’m gonna fuck you six-ways to Sunday.”

“I don’t want come on my shirt, Dean…” Sam rolled his eyes. “How would I explain that one? I’ve been open jacketed all day.”

“Who cares?” Dean chuckled as he slicked up three fingers. “Now, stop being a baby and let me see your hole.”

Sam flipped over and wiggled his ass. Dean sucked in a deep breath. Sam’s ass was a sight to behold. The skin, perfectly unblemished, just begged to be bit and sucked. “How much?”

“Not much. Wanna feel it.” Sam panted as Dean circled his hole with a well lubed finger. He breached the tight ring of muscle and wiggled a few times before jabbing a second in.

Dean leaned down and sunk his teeth into the meaty flesh near Sam’s crack. “Look at you… all greedy for my fingers. You ready?” Dean whispered against the red, inflamed skin.

“Just-” Sam stuttered.

Dean snaked a hand between his legs and ran his palm over the sensitive flesh of his cock. He pressed the head against Sam’s hole and pushed steadily. Sam liked the slight edge of pain that came from little prep. He always said he loved feeling it for days.

Dean hissed as his cock-head slipped inside Sam. He wrapped his hands around Sam’s tight waist and pulled him backwards until he was fully seated. “Oh, yeah… That’s-”

“Move.” Sam commanded. He was always the dictator when it came to their sex life. Dean secretly loved it.

“Don’t you go getting bossy on me.” Dean pulled out slightly and slammed back into Sam, his groan filling the cell.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, sweetheart… You know me...” Dean thrust again, savouring the pull of skin from not _quite_ enough lube. “I only bottom on your birthday.”

“Ugh.” Sam grunted. “Harder.”

Dean ignored the pull in his abdomen that told him he was getting close. He pushed up slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts and smiled at the high pitched moan leaving Sam’s mouth as his cock brushed the other man’s prostate. Dean kept up the punishing pace, determined to make Sam come on his cock alone. He pulled almost entire out, the underside of his head catching on the lip of Sam’s hole, and slammed back in. His hips smacked against Sam’s cheeks as his cock pushed against the spongy tissue deep inside his partner.

Sam cried out, the muscles of his ass squeezing and pushing. Dean felt the tell-tale flutter of his abdominal muscles as his balls grew tight to his body. He shuddered, spilling himself inside Sam. Shaky fingers ran up and down Sam’s flank.

“Fuck.” Dean panted as he collapsed on top of Sam.

“Budge up, asshole.” Sam pushed Dean off and hissed as Dean’s flaccid member slid from his body.

Dean flopped next to Sam on the narrow cot and chuckled. “Thanks for spooging all over my blanket.”

“You loved it.” Sam smiled.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. He closed his eyes and rolled over, half spooning into Sam’s side. He huffed a breath over the sweat-soaked skin and sighed.

“What?” Sam questioned as he ran his fingers through Dean’s short spikes.

“Nothing.” Dean kissed the skin under Sam’s left nipple.

“Don’t you dare tell me nothing, Dean. You’ve been my partner for five years now. I know that sound.” Sam stilled his hand. “Is there something you needed to tell me?”

Dean pressed chaste kisses over Sam’s ribs and whispered. “I killed him.”

“Who?” Dean could feel the confused look on Sam’s face.

“Dad.” Dean huffed. “Found him in Louisville. Don’t rightfully know what he was doing. He had on _Fed threads_ … But I _know_ that he wasn’t Bureau.”

“Did you talk to him?” Sam pushed Dean’s face up off his chest. He winced at the pained look on his partner’s face. Sam’s brow was scrunched, the little circle wrinkles between his eyes had deepened over the years leaving him looking like a frowny old man.

“If you’re asking did he know it was me when I put a bullet through his brain, then yeah. He knew.” He closed his eyes and forced Sam’s hand off his face. “Fucker deserved it if you ask me. Can’t believe he abandoned us like that. He-”

“Wait… What?” Sam stilled.

“He abandoned me, Sam… What part of that-”

“That’s not what you said, Dean.” Sam wiggled out from underneath Dean and sat up. He ran a shaky hand through his messed hair and closed his eyes.

Dean sat up bracketing Sam’s hips with his thighs. His fingers immediately went to the sensitive skin of his partner’s shoulders and pressed _hard_ , kneading the now tense muscle.

“It’s not- You gotta-” Dean’s hands pushed forcefully, keeping Sam facing away from his confession. He stilled his breath knowing the only way to rectify the situation was to be honest… For once. “I- I’ve known for years now. Found out about six months after I joined the Bureau.

“Files that had been sealed were no longer to me. I _had_ to find out… You gotta understand that, Sam. There was no option for me.”

“Did you- Did you keep tabs on me?” Sam whispered.

“Not at first. It was enough knowing that you were in school and doing well. I promised myself that I would leave you alone…” Dean swallowed. “But then…”

“I applied to the FBI.” Sam relaxed into Dean’s embrace.

“You did.” Dean open-mouth kissed the massage-reddened skin under his hands. “I knew then that I _had_ to have you. Falling in love with you? It was a _bonus_.”

“Were- were you ever gonna tell me?” Dean thinks that this might have been _exactly_ how Sam would have behaved as a teenager. Every now and then, glimpses came through. His shoulder were scrunched and his head bowed, almost as if he were attempting to make himself smaller.

“Oh, Sammy… I would have. I promise.” Dean scooted himself around into Sam’s lap. He ran a finger down Sam’s half opened shirt and smiled at the full body shiver that accompanied the gesture. “It just wasn’t time. I was planning on telling you everything…”

“How many?” Sam sighed into the touch.

“Sammy…”

Sam reached up and framed Dean’s face with his hands. “How. Many?”

“Thirty-six.” Dean winced. Sam would leave him. He would push Dean off his lap and walk out of that cell. He would lose his brother all over again. But this time, it would be for good.

“Dean…” Sam tipped his head to rest on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. But you? We’ve got to figure this out.”

Dean scrunched his face. “Sammy?”

“No, Dean. We’re together now… We’re never going to be apart again. I’m gonna figure out a way. Promise. You’ve gotta go in there tomorrow, tell them a few more stories, and I _promise_ … I will get you out of here.”

Dean smiled and kissed Sam’s head. “Not too much longer?”

“Never…”

Dean cleared his throat. The day had been crawling by. He regaled the Sheriff and his deputies with tales of murder… Drugs were easy to come by in Atlanta. It was nothing to kill by overdose. He sighed as Sam cleared the last of the lunch garbage from the interrogation table.

“Dean,” His brother grumbled. “You need to tell the last two. One, I _know_ you’ve been hiding. The other…”

“Are you withholding information from us, Wesson?” Sheriff McFarson questioned, his face hard.

“No, Sheriff. There’s a couple of gaps in his timeline, that’s all.” Sam smiled.

Sheriff McFarson bristled at the statement. “Well, then he should get on with it.”

Dean nodded. “The first gap… Well, I _genuinely_ feel bad for that one. It was a balmy March day in Louisville. I was at Churchill Downs doing some work for a friend of mine…

“She was a pretty girl. Nothing like I had targeted before, and _that_? That was the problem. We had been tending to the horses. She worked in the stables there. Emily… Blonde hair… blue-grey eyes… She _loved_ horses. Knew so much about past Derby winners. We had been discussing the last Triple Crown Winner when Emily excused herself to take what she _stated_ was an important phone call. It had been a year since I killed and I _needed_ this. So, I spiked her drink.

“Just a little bit of sleeping pills… She was a tea drinker. One of those ones who left the bag in the cup until she drank it all. It was nothing to slip a few crushed up whites into the bitter liquid.”

Sheriff McFarson raised an eyebrow.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that shit, especially damn-near twenty-years later.” Dean shook his head as Sam handed him a lit cigarette. “She downed the tea in a few gulps and thought that we should go for a ride. Normally, I never messed with pills. I guess I didn’t think about how long it would take… Or how much was too much… Cause the next thing I know, she was on the ground, the horse over her. My horse must have spooked the mare she was riding. I can see it now… Emily on the ground, the dappled mare above her… She stepped. Right on Emily’s head. It was almost as if you hit a cantaloupe with a mallet. You know… Like that comedian from the back then… Gallagher, I think.”

There was a collective gasp from the room. One would think that the assembled staff would be used to such gruesome tales. Apparently, this is not the case.

“Normally, a horse won’t step on a person. It’s something to do with the way they move, but for some reason-”

“Can we- I don’t think that I need to hear anymore.” Rusty stated, his face tinged green with nausea.

“Sure… I’ve got a good tale for you.” Dean snuffed his smoke out in the black, plastic ashtray and motioned Sam for another. “It was a balmy September night.”

Dean and his partner, Jim Roberts had been in Sturgis for weeks. The best part about the entire trip had been the Rally. They had a lead on a massive drug case and were still doing the recon work when it came down the wire.

Dean’s phone rang in his pocket. The shrill tone that emanated from his pocket was all he needed to recuse himself to a private location. He rounded the corner and pulled his iPhone from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Smith here.” Dean glanced around, his head on a swivel. This conversation was _private_ for a reason.

_Got a good one for ya, bud._

“Well… Get on with it Jody.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait for you all day. I _am_ on a case.”

_Yeah… A case that no one wanted to take. Motorcycle gangs? Drugs? I get that Rally Week brings all kinds, but do they really think it is a bar owner?_

“It has to be. And that’s where I come in. So… what’a ya got for me?” Dean loved Jody, but sometimes she tried too much to be a mother. Dean had a mom, _thank you very much_. He knew that Jody Mills _meant_ well…”

_Your brother is being sworn in as an Agent on Friday next week. His paperwork for a partner conveniently got misplaced. Make it happen._

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Dean blew kisses through the tinny microphone.

Jody sighed. _Only every day._

“Let me know when it’s done. I’ll take care of things from my end.” Dean pulled the phone from his ear, but at the last second put it back. “Watch the news tonight, yeah?”

_Will do._

Dean hung the phone up and shoved it back into his pocket. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly released his pent up energy. Dean knew he had _one chance_ to get this right. He rounded the corner, a smile on his face. “Jim!”

“Yo, man.” Jim waved the other man over. “Mike says we’re welcome to a bottle or two with the guys. You in?”

“Fuck, yeah…” Dean grinned. “Let’s go tear shit up.”

“I don’t see where this…” Officer McFarson interrupted.

“Well, that’s what you get for messing with my flow. I hate story interrupters. Where was I? Oh, yeah… So Jim, Mike, and three big burly biker boys went into Full Throttle and threw back a few. I had a whisky, neat. Just one. I needed to be on point for this to work out okay.

“I had the gun I stole off this dude in Louisville a few years before. Ivory handle… etching… she was a beauty to behold. Colt M1911 .45cal, that would do the trick. I was a fast shot, but knew all I _really_ needed to do was take Jim and the owner out.

“It wasn’t long before Jim and the Bikers were in their cups and I knew I had my chance.” Dean grinned.

“Dean…” Richard laughed. “Get ov’r here.”

“Richard!” Dean yelled from across the room. He needed to appear overly intoxicated for this to work. “Pour me a double!”

Jim looked up from his spot behind the bar with Mike. He pulled a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue off the top shelf, tipping it forward for Dean’s approval.

Dean waited a beat for Jim to dip his head down. He whipped the Colt from the back of his pants and aimed. _Silent_. _Take a breath_. _Hold it_. _Fire_. Dean pulled the trigger and closed his eyes the second the bullet rang true.

“What the?” Richard yelled.

“He’s a Fed.” Dean laughed. “I just took care of the problem.”

“Ah. Good man.” Richard raised a glass.

Dean fired three more shots, all hitting the mark.

“I lit the bar on fire. What else was I going to do?” Dean shrugged. “Had to make it look like a drug deal gone bad.”

The Sheriff jumped from his seat. He rounded the side of the table and grinned. Dean knew that grin. Here it came. “Dean Michael Smith. You are under arrest for the murder of a Federal Agent and the arson of the Full Throttle Bar. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before continuing to speak to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. Do you understand these rights?”

“Of course, Sheriff.” Dean leaned back as far as he could in his chair, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Sheriff McFarson. As the representative of Dean Smith, I am hereby stating that my client will be answering no further questions at this time and ask that he be returned to his cell.” Sam stood and held out his hand for Dean’s key.

Sam shoved Dean into his cell. “You’d better be glad that I am quick.”

Dean smiled and sat down on his cot.

“I’m serious, you fucker.” Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.  
“You got anything that needs to come with?”

“No… why?” Dean glanced around the cell.

A loud clank rang out through the hallway. “Sam!”

“Now! You need to move now.” Sam grabbed Dean by the hand and pulled a key from his pants pocket. He reached through the bars and unlocked the cell.

“What?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Now is not the time. Shane is a good guy who may lose his job over this. So, make it worth his while.” Sam shoved Dean down the hall and out a side delivery door. Shane smiled as Sam threw him the cell key. “Thanks, Shane… You’ll never know how much this means to me… And my brother.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” Shane glanced down the hallway behind him. “I figure you’ve got about an hour before the Sheriff comes sniffing around. That should get you far enough away that you can get another car. I’ll take care of the records and tapes. They’ll have nothing. Promise.”

Dean glanced over at the young Deputy. “Shane. Thank you for your kindness.”

Shane smiled. “Dean… I get that you may have done some shitty things, but right now, you need to add jail break to your record. Go.” Shane shooed them out the door and closed it behind them with a clatter.

“Fuck.” Dean ran to the car and collapsed in the passenger seat.

Sam slid behind the wheel and drove calmly from the lot. “You need to- I just can’t- We have a few weeks of vacation. We need to take it… _Now_.”

“Just drive, baby boy.”

**Epilogue:**

Dean kicked his feet back in his cabana chair. A bottle of cold Corona sat by his chair, the lime wedged firmly in the neck. “Hey, Lover-Boy.”

Sam stepped out onto the deck, his feet firmly encased in flip-flops. Dean had to laugh at his brother’s pansy-ass feet. “I really wish you would stop calling me that.”

“But you are.” Dean pouted as Sam leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“And I love you… But I’m not a pansy.” Sam rolled his eyes and plopped down in to the chair next to Dean. “I don’t want this vacation to ever end.”

“I know...” Dean took a swig of his beer. “Did you talk to Shane while you were inside?”

“I did. And you’ll be happy to know that there are _zero_ records of your confession. Something about a fire in the records room. The Fire Chief determined that it started at an outlet by the file cabinet your records were in. Not much else was damaged, but Sheriff McFarson doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“And the fact that I broke out of jail?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“You what?” Sam laughed and pulled his sunglasses down from the top of his head. “You did no such thing. You were _never_ formally charged.”

“I love you, bitch.”

“Shut up and drink your beer…” Sam chuckled. “Jerk.”


End file.
